Chapter 1My grandfather faked his own death to frame my grandmother for murder—all so he could run off with his mistress.
Grandma got twenty years in prison.
Meanwhile, he took her money and that woman and disappeared.
He became some hotshot defense attorney.
She became a famous philanthropist.
And Grandma?
She gave birth to my mom behind bars and spent the rest of her life branded a murderer.
Mom grew up on charity, worked her hands raw to put me through college.
Fifty years later, here I am—a permanent judge at Colorado's High Court.
Sitting on the bench, looking down at five teenagers accused of murder.
The first four? Open and shut.
The fifth kid though—they only found a partial print of his at the scene. Plus he had a solid alibi.
Even the cops said he was the least suspicious. No way the murder charge would stick.
I flipped through his file.
Under family contacts: Richard Fletcher.
My grandfather.
I studied the boy's face.
Those features looked so damn familiar.
When his lawyer moved for immediate acquittal, I tapped my gavel.
"Motion denied. I'm recommending the DA proceed with formal murder charges."
...
"Your Honor, are you sure about this?"
Defense counsel tried again.
"My client has a complete alibi. The DA already dropped the murder charge."
I looked up.
Locked eyes with Blake Fletcher in the defendant's box.
He sat there slouched, cocky, like this was nothing.
His eyes, his face—just like someone I'd seen before.
Someone whose photo Grandma had been touching for fifty years.
I said it again.
"After reviewing all evidence, this court denies the motion."
The whole room erupted.
Blake had no motive, no opportunity—nothing.
Even the prosecution gave up. Today was supposed to be a formality.
Now the smirk slid off Blake's face. He frowned.
Glanced at me.
Voice dripping with contempt.
"God, women are such a pain. Hey, Mr. Chen—my grandpa didn't hire you to sit there doing nothing."
His lawyer wiped sweat off his forehead.
"Your Honor, regarding my client—"
I cut him off.
"I've reviewed all materials from both sides."
"Blake Fletcher's motion for acquittal is denied."
As I spoke, guards cuffed him again.
His whole expression changed.
Gone was that easy confidence.
He slammed his hand against the glass.
"Do you have ANY idea who my grandfather is?!"
I raised my eyes calmly.
"The courtroom's where fairness matters. You do wrong, you pay."
Looking through his face, I could almost see Richard Fletcher from fifty years ago.
"Even your grandfather's no exception."
I brought the gavel down.
"Trial resumes in three days for the murder of Anna Brooks. DA, get your case ready."
Blake's face flushed red. Even as they led him away, he kept running his mouth.
"My grandfather is Richard Fletcher—a LEGEND!"
"My grandma's a famous philanthropist!"
"You're just some nobody judge. You have NO idea what the Fletcher family means in this state!"
Oh, I knew.
Richard Fletcher.
Legal legend. Undefeated defense attorney.
The mountain every law student looked up to.
Never lost a single case.
But he was also a fraud.
He faked his death and pinned "murder" on my grandmother.
Let her suffer under that lie for fifty years.
This gavel?
My grandma's been waiting a long time to hear it fall.
Chapter 2
The second I left the courtroom, my supervisor Judge Morrison burst in.
"Do you have ANY idea what you just did?!"
He shoved his tablet in my face.
On screen: Richard Fletcher announcing he was coming out of retirement to personally defend Blake.
"Professionally, I've spent decades believing in the law as justice—that the innocent shouldn't suffer.
Personally, Blake is my only grandson. I know his character.
Whether it's evidence or witnesses, Blake absolutely did NOT commit this crime."
At the end, Richard stared straight into the camera.
Those cloudy old eyes sharpened.
"I started from nothing too. Worked my way up. So let me say this—young people need to watch their step. One wrong move, and it's a long fall down."
That line was aimed at me.
Online, the comments were unanimous.
[Mr. Fletcher is a LEGEND. When he takes a case, it's a guaranteed win!]
[I've followed this from day one. Blake's obviously innocent. His print was only there because one of the other suspects stole his phone.]
[Team Grandpa Fletcher. This lady judge made it to permanent judge at thirty? Yeah right. Bet she slept her way up.]
[Can't WAIT to see Mr. Fletcher destroy her in court. Applying for gallery seats!]
Judge Morrison was furious.
"Blake has no motive, a complete timeline, and even the other four suspects said he left early. Why are you going after him?"
I closed the file.
"Judge Morrison, this is my case. I'm not required to discuss details with anyone outside proceedings."
My voice stayed level.
"Blake Fletcher is guilty. The court exists to uphold justice. I won't let him walk."
Judge Morrison's eyes blazed.
"You keep this up, even I can't protect you."
He handed me an address.
"I'm giving you one chance. I've arranged a meeting with Mr. Fletcher. You go apologize, and at the hearing in three days, you follow the facts and acquit him."
I agreed to meet Richard.
Not to apologize.
I just wanted to see him.
See what kind of life the man who faked his death to frame his wife had been living.
Chapter 3
Richard Fletcher lived in Hillside Estates—the famous rich neighborhood.
The second I stepped into the Fletcher mansion, a polished older woman walked over.
Always on TV, always in the media. Famous philanthropist.
Vivian Sterling.
The woman Richard faked his death for.
The woman he framed my grandmother to be with.
She looked good for her age.
Her hands showed time's passage—but clearly hands that never touched housework.
Not like Grandma's.
Covered in scars from prison labor. Marks from beatings.
Three generations of us worked our hands raw.
And finally, here we were.
Vivian sat without invitation. Barely glanced at me.
"So you're the judge who convicted Blake? Look pretty young. Sleep your way up?"
She sipped her wine.
"I won't waste time. You know what the Fletcher family means here. We have ways to make people disappear."
"Vivian, don't scare the girl."
From the shadows, Richard Fletcher stepped forward.
Fifty years had passed.
He'd gotten fat.
Wore this warm smile—nothing like the cold man in Grandma's photo.
"Sit."
A servant brought drinks.
Richard poured me a glass.
"My wife and I were so focused on careers, we didn't have our first kid until almost forty.
But he had bad luck—died in a car crash right after marriage. Left us only Blake."
"We spoiled the kid. When he gets back, I'll have him apologize."
I pushed the glass back.
"Mr. Fletcher, I don't drink."
His eyes went cold. Then he smiled.
"Right. Well then, you'd be more interested in this."
He raised a hand. The bodyguard brought over a briefcase.
"Just some cash. Nothing fancy."
"I'm getting old. Can't stomach bloody business anymore. I looked into you—coming out of poverty, that wasn't easy. I get wanting to climb higher. This'll set you up for life."
I stood.
"Mr. Fletcher. The hearing in three days will go how it goes. I'll see myself out."
Richard's voice turned sharp.
"What the hell do you WANT? Name your price!"
I stopped in my tracks.
What did I want?
I wanted his family destroyed.
I wanted him to pay for what he did, even after fifty years.
Without turning around, I said,
"I want karma to finally collect its debt."
