The Manhattan Civil Court building hadn't changed overnight, but Emily felt like she was seeing it for the first time.
She walked up the stone steps at 8:47 AM, exactly thirteen minutes before her hearing was scheduled to begin. The briefcase in her hand was the same battered leather one she'd carried for years, held together with duct tape and prayers. But inside, everything was different.
Her client, Roberto Vega, waited for her in the hallway outside Courtroom 3B. He was a small man in his fifties, wearing a suit that had seen better decades. His hands shook as he clutched a manila folder filled with payroll stubs and work schedules.
"Ms. Rose," he stood up when he saw her coming. "Thank you for taking my case. I know it's not much money, but—"
"It's enough." Emily's voice sounded different to her own ears. More confident. "And we're going to win."
Roberto blinked. "You really think so?"
"I know so."
The confidence in her voice wasn't fake. Emily could see the entire case laid out in her mind like a chess board. Every move the opposing counsel would make, every objection they would raise, every precedent they would cite. It was all there, crystal clear, along with the perfect counter-arguments.
She'd spent three hours last night preparing, but it felt like she'd been working on this case for years.
"Tell me again what happened," Emily said as they walked into the courtroom.
"I worked nights cleaning offices in the Hudson Construction building. Six months, never missed a day. Then they said budget cuts and fired me. But I know they hired new guys the next week for less money."
"And they owe you how much?"
"Fifteen thousand in back pay, plus overtime. I got kids, Ms. Rose. Three kids and my wife's sick."
Emily nodded. Roberto's story was simple. Clean. The kind of case that should have been easy to win if you had the right ammunition.
Now she had nuclear weapons.
The opposing side was already seated at their table. Three lawyers from Blackwood, Sterling & Associates. Emily recognized the lead attorney—William Morrison, a man in his sixties who specialized in corporate defense. His gray hair was perfectly styled, his suit probably cost more than Roberto made in a month.
Morrison looked over at Emily and Roberto with barely concealed disdain. He leaned over to whisper something to his associates. They laughed.
Emily felt something stir inside her chest. Not anger, exactly. Something cooler. More focused.
"All rise," the bailiff called out. "The Honorable Judge Patricia Reeves presiding."
Judge Reeves was a woman Emily had appeared before twice before. Both times, Emily had lost. Reeves was known for being tough but fair, with little patience for sloppy legal work.
"Be seated," Judge Reeves said, settling behind her bench. "This is the matter of Vega versus Hudson Construction, case number CV-2024-5847. Are both parties ready to proceed?"
"Ready for the plaintiff, Your Honor," Emily said.
"Ready for the defendant," Morrison replied.
"Mr. Morrison, you may present your opening statement."
Morrison stood up, buttoning his jacket. He was smooth, practiced. Emily had seen him work before. He had a way of making even the most ridiculous corporate policies sound reasonable.
"Your Honor, this is a simple case of an employee who failed to meet the standards of his employment contract. Mr. Vega was repeatedly late, failed to complete assigned tasks, and was warned multiple times about his performance. Hudson Construction made the difficult but necessary decision to terminate his employment."
Morrison presented his case with theatrical precision. Charts and graphs showing Roberto's alleged poor performance. Testimony from supervisors who claimed he was unreliable.
Emily watched it all with perfect clarity. She could see the lies woven into the truth, could spot the doctored documents, could read the tells in the witnesses' body language that showed they were being coached.
More than that, she could see exactly how to destroy every single argument.
When Morrison finished, Judge Reeves turned to Emily. "Ms. Rose?"
Emily stood up. The moment she opened her mouth, she felt the power surge through her like electricity.
"Your Honor, opposing counsel has presented a masterful work of fiction. Unfortunately for Hudson Construction, this is a court of law, not a creative writing class."
A ripple went through the courtroom. Morrison's eyebrows rose.
"Mr. Morrison would have you believe that Roberto Vega was a poor employee. Let's examine the evidence."
Emily opened her briefcase and pulled out a stack of documents. She hadn't had these documents yesterday. Somehow, they'd appeared overnight, exactly where she needed them.
"Exhibit A: Mr. Vega's actual timecard records, obtained directly from Hudson Construction's payroll system. Note that he was never late, not once, in six months of employment."
Morrison was on his feet. "Objection, Your Honor. We haven't seen these documents. They weren't disclosed in discovery."
"Your Honor," Emily's voice was steady, controlled, "these documents were requested three times during discovery. Defense counsel claimed they didn't exist. I was forced to subpoena them directly from the payroll company."
Judge Reeves looked at Morrison. "Is this true, counsel?"
Morrison's face had gone red. "I... we may have overlooked those particular records."
"Overlooked." Emily's voice carried just enough skepticism to make the judge take notice. "Your Honor, I submit that defense counsel didn't overlook anything. They deliberately withheld evidence that contradicted their narrative."
Emily continued, systematically dismantling Morrison's case piece by piece. Every document he'd presented, she had a better one. Every witness he'd called, she had evidence they were lying.
But more than that, she could feel something else working. The judges and jury weren't just hearing her arguments—they were being compelled by them. Not through supernatural force, but through perfect legal reasoning presented with supernatural skill.
By the time Emily finished her presentation, Morrison looked like a man who'd been hit by a truck.
"Your Honor," Emily concluded, "Hudson Construction's behavior represents exactly the kind of corporate abuse our labor laws were designed to prevent. They terminated Mr. Vega not for poor performance, but because they found workers willing to do his job for less money. This is textbook discrimination based on economic status."
Judge Reeves was nodding. Emily could see it in her eyes—complete conviction that Roberto was in the right.
"Mr. Morrison," the judge said, "does your client wish to present any rebuttal?"
Morrison stood up slowly. His face was pale now, beads of sweat visible on his forehead.
"Your Honor, I..." He paused, pressing a hand to his chest. "I'm sorry, I feel..."
Morrison swayed on his feet. One of his associates jumped up to steady him.
"Sir? Mr. Morrison, are you all right?"
Morrison's eyes were wide. He was breathing hard, short gasps that echoed in the quiet courtroom.
"Can't... can't breathe," he managed.
He collapsed.
The courtroom erupted into chaos. Someone shouted for a doctor. Judge Reeves was calling for the bailiff. Morrison's associates were trying to loosen his tie, check his pulse.
Emily stood frozen at her table, watching as paramedics rushed into the courtroom. They worked on Morrison for ten minutes before loading him onto a stretcher.
She could hear fragments of conversation as they wheeled him out.
"Heart attack..."
"Massive MI..."
"Get him to Bellevue, now."
The courtroom fell silent after the paramedics left. Judge Reeves looked shaken.
"Given the circumstances," she said, "I'm declaring a recess. We'll reconvene when Mr. Morrison is... when defense counsel is available to continue."
But Emily knew they wouldn't need to reconvene. She knew Morrison wouldn't be coming back.
Outside the courthouse, Roberto Vega was practically dancing on the steps.
"Did you see that? Did you see the way you destroyed them? I never saw anything like it."
"We haven't won yet," Emily said, but she knew they had. Morrison's replacement would settle within the week. Full back pay plus damages.
"We will though, right? We'll win?"
Emily looked back at the courthouse steps. "Yes, Roberto. We'll win."
That afternoon, Emily sat in her apartment scrolling through news websites. It didn't take long to find what she was looking for.
"Prominent Corporate Attorney Suffers Fatal Heart Attack in Court."
The article was brief. William Morrison, 64, had died at Bellevue Hospital after collapsing during a civil proceeding. He left behind a wife, two children, and a legacy of corporate victories that had made him rich and powerful.
Emily stared at the screen for a long time.
Coincidence, she told herself. Stress from losing the case so badly. Men his age had heart attacks all the time.
But even as she tried to convince herself, Emily remembered Lucifer's words from the coffee shop.
"For every case you win, someone dies."
She closed her laptop and walked to the bathroom mirror. For a moment, just a moment, her eyes flashed gold in the reflection.
Emily thought about Roberto Vega and his three kids. She thought about William Morrison and his family.
One life saved. One life lost.
Balance.
Her phone buzzed with a text message from an unknown number: "Congratulations on your victory. The first one is always the hardest to accept. - L"
Emily stared at the message until it disappeared from her screen.
Outside, New York hummed with its usual chaos. Eight million people living their lives, completely unaware that the universe had just balanced itself.
Emily sat down at her desk and opened her laptop. Three new case inquiries had come in while she was in court.
All of them winnable.
All of them with a price.