Sometimes you just… you know? Like you’re doing something so long, it just becomes what you do. Even when you know it’s wrong. Not like murder wrong. Just… wrong. Like it’s not for *you*. It’s for *them*. I’m a lawyer. Corporate law. Big firms. Defending them. The ones with the money. All the money. Twelve hours a day. More. And you get good at it. You get REALLY good. You see the loopholes. You know how to make things… disappear. For the rich ones. Always for the rich ones. My parents, they came here with nothing. Zero. Told me, “Work hard. Be good. Do good.” That’s what they said. From the old country. They don’t get it. They just see the nice house. The good schools for my kids. My kids… they think I’m some kind of hero. Dad fixes things. You ever just sit there, in a courtroom, listening to someone talk about how bad things are? How some huge company, some giant, messed up someone’s life? And you’re the one who’s gotta make sure that company… pays as little as possible. Or nothing. And you DO it. You make it happen. And then you go home. And you can’t look at yourself in the mirror. Not really. There was this one case. A few years back. Small family business. Got screwed over by a much, much bigger firm. My firm. We were representing the big guys. And I saw it. Clear as day. They were in the wrong. Totally. But our side had the paperwork. The *right* kind of paperwork. The kind you pay a lot for. And they had… nothing. Just their word. Their honesty. You know what that’s worth in court? Nothing. Zero. Zip. I knew it. KNEW IT. I had to argue that their whole claim was baseless. Like they made it up. Total lies. And the judge… he bought it. He had to. The evidence… was all on our side. Because we MADE it that way. I remember walking out of court that day. The family, the little guy, they were just… shattered. Their whole livelihood. Gone. And I just walked past them. Like a ghost. Didn’t make eye contact. Couldn't. My partner, he clapped me on the shoulder. “Good work,” he said. “Saved the client millions.” Millions. And I just nodded. Like a robot. Got in my car. Drove home. The whole time just thinking about their faces. The dad. The mom. The young son, probably my kid’s age. Looking at me like I stole their soul. And then you get home. And your own parents, they’re asking you, “What did you do today, my son?” And you tell them some watered-down version. Like you’re fighting for justice. Protecting people. You can’t tell them you just crushed a family business to save a megacorp a few million bucks. They’d be ashamed. My dad, he’d probably tell me to quit. To find honest work. Like I don’t already have honest work. This is honest. In a way. It’s what the law says. It’s just… you get older. You see your kids growing up. They’re idealistic. They believe in right and wrong. They think the system works for everyone. And you just… you want to tell them. You want to shake them. Tell them it’s all a big lie. It’s for the rich. It always has been. And you’re just a cog. A very well-paid cog. In that machine. Sometimes I think about just quitting. Just walking away. But then what? The mortgage. My parents’ health bills. My kids’ college. It’s all tied up. The golden handcuffs. So you just keep going. Day after day. Making the world a little less fair for everyone but the ones who already have everything. And you wonder if one day, someone will figure it out. Someone will see you. For what you really are. Not the hero. Not even a good man. Just… a good lawyer. For the wrong side. And then what? You just keep scrolling. Keep pretending. Till 2AM. And then you do it all again tomorrow.