Days later, a summons arrived from the District Attorney’s office. I expected another dismissive interview, another brick wall. Instead, I found myself in a small, cramped office with a young man named Calvin Price.
He was barely older than I was, with earnest eyes and a perpetually worried frown. His desk was piled high with legal tomes and stacks of papers. He motioned for me to sit.
“Mrs. Holloway, I’ve reviewed your complaint and the police report,” he began, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I won’t mince words. This isn’t going to be easy.”
I waited, bracing myself for the usual excuses.
“On the surface, it’s a clear assault case,” he continued, leaning forward. “But Elias Croft isn’t just anyone. His company holds major war contracts. He has powerful friends. He’s a local hero, in some circles.”
“So, what? He gets a pass because he’s rich?” I asked, a bitter taste in my mouth.
Calvin winced. “No, but his influence is considerable. People are hesitant to cross him, especially now, with patriotic fervor running high. The police report is already heavily skewed.”
He picked up Tommy’s drawing, which I had insisted be included with my complaint. His eyes softened as he looked at the snarling face of Croft.
“This is compelling, Mrs. Holloway. But in court, it’s just a child’s drawing.”
A sliver of hope, however small, sparked within me. He was actually *listening*. He understood the injustice, even if he painted a bleak picture of the path ahead. It was the first time I felt like someone might actually be on our side.
“So, what do we do?” I asked, my voice quiet. “Do we just… give up?”
Calvin looked at me, a flicker of defiance in his gaze. “No, Mrs. Holloway. We fight.”
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