Free The Advocate's Daughter by Anthony Franze

the best I can for my clients. I turn over every stone, file a mountain of motions, and I eat, drink, and sleep their cases until trial. But I vowed to myself two things long ago, lessons learned early in my career.” Hellstrom looked Sean in the eyes. “First, if anyone’s going to jail, it’s going to be my client, not me. So no matter how badly I want to win, I always play by the rules. Second, if my client goes to jail, I don’t take it personally. My clients are not my friends, not my family—they’re my clients. ”
    Sean began to understand why they called him “the jury master.” His manner. Hellstrom had a homespun sincerity—he was a truth teller—and you wanted him to continue talking, telling you his story, dispensing his wisdom.
    â€œThis morning, one of the associates at my office sent me an e-mail that had a video clip of an interview you gave the press. I normally don’t open these types of things.” Hellstrom pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose loudly.
    â€œYou may be too young, but do you remember the days before we got deluged with all this YouTube and Internet crap? Anyway, this associate, a young guy fresh out of law school includes a note that says I really should watch it, so I did. And I was struck by your words about—no, your faith in—the system.”
    Sean narrowed his eyes. “I’m not some naïve kid, Mr. Hellstrom, so please don’t—”
    â€œOf course not. But maybe I’ve been doing this too long, or it’s the type of cases I handle, but I see things a little differently. I don’t know what your experience was at the solicitor general’s office, but in my practice there are some cases—usually the big ones—where the government can’t see straight. Good people do strange things. Look at the Roger Clemens trial or the Ted Stevens and John Edwards cases.”
    â€œSo what’s your point, Mr. Hellstrom?”
    â€œPlease, call me Blake.”
    Sean waited for a response.
    â€œMy point,” Hellstrom said finally, “and the reason I came here today, is that I’m convinced Malik Montgomery is innocent.”
    Sean scoffed and stood. “I think we’re done here.”
    Hellstrom held up his hands in retreat. “Please, Mr. Serrat…”
    â€œIf your client is innocent, I’m sure he’ll be in great hands with you as his lawyer. I just don’t see what you hope to achieve by—”
    â€œI’m not sure myself why I’m here,” Hellstrom said. “It’s the damndest thing. I just kept thinking of that video of you and something compelled me to walk over. Please, if you’ll just hear me out.”
    Sean gave an exasperated sigh and sat back down.
    â€œYou’re not the decision maker, and the government’s gonna do what it’s gonna do with this case. But this is your daughter. And, unlike all the defendants I’ve ever represented, I’ve never felt the terror I’m feeling with Malik Montgomery. Nothing we say here goes beyond this room and I won’t be telling anyone you spoke with me. I just ask you to consider something.” Hellstrom raised two fingers. “They have only two pieces of evidence as far as I can tell: One, Malik was at the Supreme Court the night your daughter was murdered. And two, her phone was found at his home.”
    â€œNo, that’s not all,” Sean countered. “He lied. He lied about being at the scene of the crime. I know, I was there. Malik looked me in the eye and he lied.”
    Hellstrom gave a sympathetic gaze. “More than a hundred people were in the court that evening for a reception. Malik should’ve told the FBI he went in to speak with your daughter, but by that point he was scared and knew the direction things were headed. Malik may be affluent, but he’s still had to grow up in this city as a black man. He has good