Foxfire, Esq.

Book 2 | Chapter Twenty

Casey pulled the firm’s car into the parking space, and put the sedan in park. Then they frowned, put the car back in reverse, straightened out their park job, and pulled back in before putting the car back in park.

Half past six in the morning on a Monday. We were thirty minutes early for our scheduled status conference, and we should have been getting out of the car now, but...

“Okay, you’ve barely said a word yet today,” Casey prodded, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had been lying over us for the whole drive over. “No making sure I had the docs. No questions about how Bar prep is going. Not even a grumble at that one pothole on K Street! And your ears have been on twitchy swivels! What’s going on? What happened?”

I sighed, my ears folding low in time with my mood. I should’ve known that Casey of all people would pick up on the signs that I was out of sorts. Wow, it was almost like they’d spent a good chunk of the last six months shadowing me or something. But, sarcastic self-recriminations aside... this funk I was in could affect them.

Plus, a little voice in my subconscious supplied, they were also a resource that could help put words to my worries, and help me understand them.

So I took a deep breath, flicked an ear to get Casey’s attention, and just... dove into the deep end.

“Hey, Casey? Is it — okay, this is a weird question, but, um. Is it... possible for a trans person to be transphobic?”

“Bwa—um.”

Casey cut themselves off, and just sat there blinking for a moment. They raised an eyebrow and almost squinted at me, and I got the distinct impression that they were trying to see if there was some game I was playing here or not. Which, okay, given the context of the last time these issues had come up that was fair, but it did still hurt a bit.

“I... clearly don’t have the full story here,” they hedged, drawing their words out such that it sounded less like a statement and more like a question.

“I, um. Went to a, um, drag show on Saturday—”

“And you didn’t invite me!?”

“Casey,” I warned, ears pulled low. “Please. I’m being serious here, here. Trying not to just...” my words left me in a sigh, and I found myself pulling my tail into my lap and combing my fingers through my fur. “You already know that I’m, well, bad about letting myself forget what I am. So please, just — I’m serious, here. I don’t know these things.”

“More like you didn’t want to, ‘cause it was easier that way,” they muttered, and though I almost winced at the accusation, I still nodded. “Okay. Sorry.”

“It’s okay—”

“The answer is yes,” Casey interrupted, heat building as they continued to speak, “absolutely, emphatically yes, trans people can be and often are prejudiced against other trans people, and it’s a massive and ugly and horrible problem in the community.”

... oh. That... there was no hesitation there. Not even an ounce of second-guessing.

“I — I didn’t realize,” I muttered, my heart sinking as Casey carefully schooled their expression from increasing rage back to just simmering indignation.

“Shouldn’t it be obvious?” they continued. “Passing trans people towards those who ‘pass’ less, transmascs and transfems towards one another, both of them towards genderfluid and nonbinary people...” Casey paused, closed their eyes, and took a deep breath, even as their tightening grip on the steering wheel bleached their knuckles white. “I had to make a new account to use in what should be trans-friendly spaces because when I self-ID’d as enby, I got harassed for being not trans enough. And before that I got called a ‘fake queer’ for being bi.”

“... that’s not right,” I murmured. But even as I said that, I couldn’t help but remember how I’d all but panicked at seeing a fucking drag queen not two days ago.

“It’s not,” Casey agreed. “And you can’t do anything about it now. But now that you know?”

“I’ll...” I swallowed, and flicked my ears to try and bleed some of the anxiety off. “I’ll look into what I can do to help. Or even just — I don’t know.”

“And I won’t let you forget it.” With that, Casey shut off the engine, unlocked the doors, and got out of the car.

I sat there for another moment longer, allowing myself a moment to re-center myself with a deep breath. Okay, Naomi. You don’t have time to go over those ugly feelings and worries now, but you do have to actually give them room to breathe. Just... not right this instant. Make a note to unpack your thoughts and examine your biases later. But for now?

It was time to go to work, time to get someone exonerated, and point a finger at the actual culprit. Without needing to waste most of a year in the courtroom, which... ugh. I was glad not to be taking this to trial, yes.

But God damn it, this would’ve made for such an incredible Perry Mason Moment!

Conference rooms in most courts were rather staid affairs. They existed for a purpose, and little else.

The District Court for the District of Columbia was not most courts. It was arguably the most important federal district court in the country, and while the Southern Districts of both California and New York came close, those had multiple division courts. The District Court of DC had just the one.

And even its conference rooms were positively lavish.

Decades-old wooden chairs with plush upholstery surrounded a solid wood table, its surface and edges worn smooth from untold numbers of lawyers and judges dragging papers across its surface. Heavy curtains were tied back and away from floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall, which looked out onto a carefully-tended courtyard.

As we were the first to arrive, Casey and I took a pair of seats on the side looking out the window. Rachael Cruz arrived a few minutes later, wearing a freshly-cleaned skirt suit and flats, hair pulled back and away from her subtly made-up face. She had a small laptop bag and opened it up to retrieve the laptop she’d been using back at her temporary apartment, and that I now realized had no branding or other labels on it, which... huh. Odd. That thing wasn’t a full custom build, was it?

I didn’t have time to ruminate on that thought for long as the door opened again, letting in an older gentleman, trademark vest and suspenders identifying him for me in the absence of robes.

“Your Honor,” I greeted as I stood.

“Counsel,” he answered, setting his coffee mug down before offering me a handshake. “Early again, are we?”

“You know what I say, early is on time,” I shrugged, one ear swiveling to face Casey and Rachael as the pair of them let out almost identical amused huffs. Chief Judge Farley didn’t say anything, so I plowed on. “Regarding the other matter—”

“I heard from the third party that needs to be involved,” he answered, even before I could finish my question. “It’s set for Wednesday, 2pm in my courtroom. Be present at 1pm.”

“Yes, sir,” I nodded. “Thank you for your understanding and the Court’s indulgence.”

“Mhmm. May as well get comfy,” Chief Judge Farley said as he retreated to his own seat at the head of the table. “AUSA Bergdorf has a habit of being ‘fashionably late’. I’ve got the stenographer watching for him to get a to-the-second read on when he finally arrives.”

“Ugh, of course,” I grumbled, ears falling flat in annoyance. The Chief Judge just offered a sage, commiserating nod, and I returned to my seat between Casey and Cruz, then set about double-checking that all my materials were arranged in the order I wanted.

Twenty-five minutes later, a full seventeen minutes after the status conference was supposed to begin, my ear swiveled to catch the sound of feet shuffling against the carpet. The door to the conference room opened a few moments later, admitting a flushed, somewhat-overweight man in a too-large suit, a bundle of papers held under one arm and the other pressing against the strap of a heavy, well-loved briefcase.

“I’m so so so so sorry for being late, your Honor!” AUSA Mitchell Bergdorf rushed out as he bustled into the room, followed by a long-suffering stenographer and a pale, anxious-looking younger attorney, likely a first-year. Or maybe a student attorney, actually? I changed a glance at Casey, but they didn’t seem to recognize the poor girl being dragged along in the AUSA’s wake. “I was halfway out the door when I realized I’d forgotten—”

“Save it,” the Chief interrupted, barely glancing up from the folder he’d been reading to cast an evil eye Bergdorf’s way. “The rest of my court has clearly given your antics far too much leeway and patience. A little disorganization in the US Attorney’s Office is understandable, but it is unacceptable for that to be what you’re showing Ms. Pepperdine here, and I’ll be having words with the US Attorney herself to have my former clerk reassigned to somebody a bit more...” He scanned Bergdorf from head to toe, and his eyes lingered at a slight stain on the cuff of his left sleeve. “Put-together.”

“M-my apologies, your Hon—”

“Save it,” he cut off the AUSA with a sigh. “Just sit down.”

It was around this time that the US Attorney's Office’s new recruit and apparent former clerk for the Chief Judge turned around and noticed me, just given the way the young woman’s jaw dropped and eyes went wide. I offered her a quick smile and wiggled one ear her way, which seemed to snap her out of the sudden daze long enough to sit down and get her own documents out. Then, because we had to wait for the stenographer to get set up, the poor girl went right back to staring. Was it a little annoying? Yes, but it was also adorable. And I was probably more worth her attention than the man she was supposed to be learning from, anyway.

I’d never had the displeasure of going up against Mitch Bergdorf before, but that was because I rarely had federal criminal cases. I’d known the man by reputation from others at the firm — disorganized, slow to respond, and painfully manipulative. But I’d also heard about this reputation well before ever going to law school, and so I was extra disappointed to finally suffer his particular brand of BS myself.

You ask me the odds of opposing counsel having been my older brother’s freshman year roommate at Harvard... and I’ll just say that it’s a small world after all.

A few more minutes passed in relatively companionable silence, punctuated only by the turning of pages and pressing of switches as the stenographer set up her specialized keyboard and made sure everything was working right. The trainee AUSA seemed to get over her little freakout during that time, and had fallen into slowly simmering resentment towards AUSA Bergdorf, who kept flinching every time the Chief Judge looked his way.

Finally, though, the stenographer cleared her throat, which Chief Judge Farley took as his signal to kick things off.

“Very well. Today’s date is Monday, June 7, 2021. Time is...” the judge looked at his wrist, “seven twenty-eight AM. Parties are gathered for a status conference in People v. Cruz AKA Wiretap. As there have been substitutions of counsel on both sides since the last status conference back in April, please identify yourselves for the record.”

“AUSA Mitchell Leonard Bergdorf for the prosecution, y-your Honor,” the slightly rotund AUSA said. “S-substituting as counsel for AUSA Berman.”

“And might I inquire as to what’s become of Margaret Berman?”

“On leave as of April 29, your Honor,” the trainee AUSA answered, a lock of blonde hair wound around her pen. “She’s due back at the end of August.”

“Thank you, Cynthia, but you do still need to introduce yourself for the record,” Farley gently reminded his former clerk.

“R-right,” she muttered. “AUSA Cynthia Pepperdine for the prosecution.”

The Chief Judge offered his former clerk a smile, which faded as he turned to nod at my side of the table.

“Naomi Ziegler FKA Foxfire, as replacement counsel for the defendant, Rachael Cruz AKA Wiretap, following the unfortunate passing of prior counsel.” I motioned at my client when I mentioned her, then gestured to my other side. “Accompanied by Casey Allen, student attorney... hmm,” I hummed, one ear flicking in thought. “Scratch that, Casey’s a JD graduate now, so amend that to Casey Allen, law clerk.”

“Congratulations are in order, then!” Chief Judge Farley exclaimed, practically beaming at Casey. “Best of luck with the Bar Exam, Mr. Allen. If even half of the rumors coming from Georgetown these last few years are true, you’ve a bright future ahead.”

“T-thank you, sir,” Casey stammered out, a soft dusting of pink across their otherwise deer-in-the-headlights expression. That said, rumors about Georgetown?... hm. That sounded like a story.

For another time, though.

“With that out of the way, let us proceed to the main purpose of this status conference.” Farley cleared his throat, and flipped open the folder in front of him. “Ms. Ziegler, you called my chambers last week on Thursday requesting a status conference at first convenience. Could you please state for the record the purpose behind your request?”

“Of course, your Honor.” I flipped open a folder of my own and retrieved three copies of the exhibit list. “As you know, we are still pending receipt of the full transaction records from Navy Federal Credit Union, but what we do have is documented authorization for the wire transfer from my client’s and Erik Anderson’s joint account. Granted, the request from prior defense counsel couldn’t be fulfilled, but prosecution bore some of the burden there too...” I shook my head and flicked an ear rather than shoot a glare at AUSA Bergdorf, and soldiered on. “Limited records show that verbal authorization was received and authenticated by the bank at 1:29pm, though they failed to state which of the account holders authorized the transfer. My client has stated under oath that her powers do not allow her to transmit voice over Internet protocol, or VoIP, and flight logs show that she was on an airplane over the Pacific Ocean for six hours before and after the transfer was authorized.

“Despite this, prior counsel felt, and I agree, that my client’s status as an airplane passenger was not enough to defeat probable cause. After all, it was established in Carter AKA Panopticon v. US that a Moonshot cannot swear an affidavit regarding or testify to the limits of their own powers, as that would be proving a negative. As such—”

“Pardon me?” the trainee AUSA, Cynthia Pepperdine, politely interjected. “I’m not familiar with that case; could you elaborate?”

“First Moonshot case?” The blonde nodded, and I offered her a warm, patient smile, my ears relaxing to a slightly lower position. “Okay, the very short version? Fun fact: telepathy has no language barrier, and you can’t lie with telepathy — but you can lie about telepathy.”

I saw the way Cynthia’s eyes widened when she caught the distinction, and heard Casey let out a very soft “ooh...” next to me.

“So: Panopticon. He was a one-term NMR super who could quite literally read the thoughts of anybody he could see, and while we’re still not sure what the condition for it was, he could also relive a person’s visual memory. After his tour ended, he quickly signed on to be a PI for the uber-rich, which made sense when you consider his ability to look at somebody and know if they were cheating on their spouse, or selling corporate secrets, or some such. Because of course that was the best thing to use mind-reading for.” I airily waved a hand at this and rolled my eyes in exasperation, which drew an amused huff from the Chief Judge.

“Anyway, it’s unknown when, but he decided to step up from outing corporate espionage to indulging in it himself, and of course, he got caught. He stood trial pro se and tried to use his telepathy to his advantage, but the prosecution had secretly called in another telepath, Card Shark, and stationed him in the gallery. This left the judge in a pickle: he had telepath A telling him one thing, and telepath B telling him another, but no way to prove it.

“So he just ruled telepathy was inadmissible on the grounds that being relayed through another person meant its probative value could never outweigh its prejudicial effect, and when that got appealed, the Supreme Court expanded it to include all testimony from Moonshot regarding the limits and extent of powers with no observable effect. Such as telepathy, or as in the instant case, technopathy.” I waited until the young AUSA had finished writing her notes. “Are you ready for me to continue?”

“Of course, my apologies,” she answered.

“No no, don’t apologize, I assure you there’s nothing to apologize for. Anyway, where was I... oh, right, probable cause!” I cleared my throat, both since I’d been talking for a little while and because it would give everybody a moment to mentally shift gears. “As I was saying: as my client’s testimony regarding the limit and extent of her powers is inadmissible, her testimony was insufficient to defeat probable cause. However, when my law clerk and I were examining the exhibits turned over to us by the prosecution, we noticed something... odd.”

Casey, bless their heart, took the cue and slid copies of the exhibit list, with one entry highlighted.

Taken from novelhall, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Let the record reflect that the defense has provided highlighted copies of the exhibit list to the opposing counsel and the judge,” I said. “Your Honor, do you see the highlighted entry on the exhibit list?”

“I do,” he affirmed, though we all had to wait for him to put back on his reading glasses before he could elaborate. “Prosecution’s Exhibit 11: ‘raw footage provided by cleared suspect Erik Henry Anderson as alibi, video 5 of 16’. Has the prosecution brought the exhibit in question for examination?”

“W-we have, your Honor!” Bergdorf broke in, then hurriedly waved at the young woman next to him to do... something. Probably produce a device with which to watch the footage. “And chain of custody documents!”

Those quickly slid across the table to both the Chief Judge and me, and thankfully it all seemed to be in order.

“Chain of custody appears intact,” Chief Judge Farley agreed, and the pair of us looked up to see that Pepperdine had retrieved a laptop from her bag. It was already booted up, and Bergdorf retrieved a thumb drive from his bag, which he plugged into the computer. A window opened up to show the contents of the thumb drive — all of the prosecution’s exhibits, neatly numbered and labeled — and he clicked onto Exhibit 7 to pull up the video for us.

“Please bring us to the following timestamp: six hours, thirteen minutes, fifty-four seconds.” Bergdorf fumbled with the laptop’s trackpad for a few moments, only for Cynthia to shove him aside and spin the laptop back towards herself. A few keystrokes later and she turned it back to the rest of us, at the correct timestamp. “If you could begin playback, and please pay attention to the figure on the left edge of the frame?”

Bergdorf clicked the play button, and we all watched. Forty-five seconds later, we all watched Erik Henry Anderson exit the left side of the frame, having announced that he was off to use the restroom.

“Pause.” Bergdorf stalled out, but Cynthia thankfully obliged. “As you can see, the date and time at which this footage was recorded are both clearly displayed in the corner: the date of the incident, 1:13pm. Data from the edited footage, which was posted to YouTube, gives us a location in Appalachia, here on the East Coast. Therefore, we can safely assume that this timestamp is in Eastern Standard Time. Now, to spare everybody’s ears: please advance playback to six hours, forty-one minutes, and twenty-six seconds, and keep your eyes on the left side of the screen.”

Once again, Cynthia had to take over for Bergdorf, but we got the footage to where it needed to be, then pressed play herself.

Twenty seconds of footage later, Erik Henry Anderson stepped back into frame, and tossed the toilet paper and satellite phone off the other side of the screen.

“Pause,” the Chief Judge ordered, and Cynthia was quick to oblige. “Step that back up for me? Bring it back to right when Mr. Anderson walks back into frame?” Once again, Cynthia obliged, and then the Chief Judge pulled the laptop closer towards himself, feathering the space bar. “Counsel, is there a way to stay paused and go forward less at a time than the arrow keys?”

“The ‘E’ key will advance you one frame at a time,” I answered. “The footage was recorded at sixty frames per second, so that will move you one-sixtieth of a second at a time.”

The only response I received was the sound of keystrokes, and we settled into a tense silence as the judge made his way through the footage, one frame at a time. A minute or so later, he stopped, and turned the laptop around to face the screen towards all of us.

“What is this?” Chief Judge Farley pointed at the screen, which was frozen on the frame that distinctly showed that Erik had entered carrying not one, but two distinct items in his hands. “What am I looking at?”

“That,” I began, retrieving a few more packets of paper from Casey’s outstretched hand in the process, “is a satellite phone. In this packet here, I have proof of payment for a satellite phone subscription, emails to my client from her husband stating that the satellite phone had been destroyed in a camping accident, confirmation that a halt had been placed on the subscription from one of their joint accounts, and documents from her pending divorce declaring the sum total of their assets and unique items for which ownership must be negotiated, within which the satellite phone is conspicuous in its absence. With your permission, we would like to enter this as Defense Exhibit E.”

“So entered,” the Chief Judge said as he accepted the packet from my hands. He flipped through the pages with a practiced eye, then turned to the documents he had in his folder for comparison. “Counsel, this was... what, half a second?”

“Closer to two-thirds.”

“The point remains — this is less than a second out of an immense sixty-four hours of footage.” The Chief Judge took off his reading glasses and looked me in the eye. “How did you find this?”

Within that ask was also the unspoken question: ‘and how did the prosecution not?’

“Casey?” I nudged; while most lawyers in a situation like this would lean towards making sure the barred and licensed attorney took the credit, I felt that Casey deserved their laurels here. “Would you like to explain how you found this?”

“Wha—me?” they stammered, to which I just smiled and nodded. “R-right! So, um... we all agree Mr. Anderson’s alibi was that he was well away from any cell coverage, and was accounted for the whole time, right? A-and that’s basically the same alibi that the defendant, that our client had, just substituting ‘in the Appalachian backwoods’ for ‘on an airplane’, yeah?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not seeing the point?” Bergdorf asked, his voice pitched a fair bit louder than Casey’s had been.

“Perhaps you’ll get there if you would let my clerk finish,” I snapped, ears folding back as I glared at him. “Casey?”

“R-right! Um... so, our client was accounted for by virtue of, well, being on an airplane,” Casey continued, fidgeting slightly as they chose to fix their gaze on Pepperdine over Bergdorf, “and since she went through customs on arrival, we can account for her location and capacity at all times, powers notwithstanding. But we can’t do the same with Mr. Anderson, because he was ‘accounted for’ by video footage. So unless it was a 24/7 body camera, then there had to be times where he was out of frame and therefore not being watched. Plus, it only came eighteen hours in, long past the point that putting it on fast forward becomes ‘good enough for government work,’” they said with an acerbic glance across the table.

“... Mr. Allen.” Casey hid their wince well at that form of address from the Chief Judge, but I laid a hand on their elbow to reassure them regardless. “Are you suggesting that the defendant is the victim of a conspiracy? One which accounted for an even expected complacency from the government?”

“I—” Casey closed their eyes, took a deep breath to calm themselves down the same way I sometimes did, then opened their eyes to meet the judge’s gaze before continuing. “Y-yes your Honor, I am. Besides, what’s more likely?” Now that Casey had hit their stride, their eyes practically shone as they readied to deliver this last little stinger with a conspiratorial grin. “A regular man magically making a phone call from the middle of nowhere, or a woman with superpowers having an ace in the hole that nobody knew about?”

“And with a history of having used those same superpowers in a similar fashion,” I added. “I made that exact mistake when reviewing the evidence. If it weren’t for Casey’s lateral thinking here... well, I wouldn’t have caught this either,” I finished, throwing a bone to the prosecution.

“I see.” Chief Judge Farley leaned back in his chair and fiddled with his reading glasses, but sat back up and faced the prosecutors after only a few seconds. “Bergdorf, get on the horn to the investigators and make sure they get me a subpoena for this satellite phone’s call logs and financial records posthaste.”

“A-and what if the FMB tries to pitch this back to the FBI?” Bergdorf asked, paling slightly at what was likely the enormity of the task in front of him. It was a bit uncharitable of me, yes, but I did recall Eli having complained about the amount of times Bergdorf’s partners for group projects came banging at their dorm room’s door, angry at the man for trying to coast without doing his share of the work.

“You call my chambers, and then I call them,” Farley answered without missing a beat. “I’ll follow up on Wednesday, then again on Friday, but I should hope to get what I need to pull this out of being a Moonshot case and down to just being a case where one of the victims is Moonshot. Ms. Ziegler, I’ll circle back with you and your client the moment I hear something new. And Mr. Allen?”

“Sir?”

“You’ve got a fine head on your shoulders, young man,” he said with a smile and nod. “If I thought you’d accept, I’d have offered you a clerkship after this case wrapped. Instead, I’ll just say that I look forward to seeing you try a case in my courtroom.”

Poor Casey just sat there, more than a little dumbstruck as they tried to process what the Chief Judge had just said. For his part, Farley quickly collected his belongings and left the conference room, likely headed back to his chambers. It was Supreme Court decision season, after all; last I’d heard one of the cases at issue had been decided in Farley’s court five or six years ago, and he likely wanted to know ASAP whether he’d have to pen a politely angry letter to ream out the Justices or not.

AUSA Bergdorf also wasted no time exiting the conference room, only briefly stopping at the door to anxiously beckon his junior Cynthia to join him. The younger AUSA’s movements were more languid, however, and she cast an appraising look at both Casey and myself before exiting the conference room.

“... so what do I do now?” Cruz asked, once it was just us (and the stenographer, who was busy packing up her equipment) in the conference room. “Is that it?”

“Yes and no,” I told my client, turning my chair to face her. “The Feds need to reopen their investigation into a suspect that they’d already ruled out, which means they’re gonna take at least a few weeks to find out how to do it without losing face. Given that this takes things from superpowered crime to just plain-old boring so-called ‘white collar’ crime, they’re gonna try to shove it off on the FBI, which would mean starting all the way back over.”

“Which is why the judge told the AUSA to call him?” Casey jumped in to ask.

“Exactly that,” I agreed, then watched the stenographer get up and leave the conference room. Good, that would help in a moment. “The good news is: you’re going to get the charges dropped. It’s not an if, it’s a when — and beyond that, your divorce lawyer is going to have an absolute field day with this. Bad news? It’s gonna take several weeks at least, more likely a few months. And if anyone tries to cause you trouble, you just email me, I call the judge, the trouble goes away.”

“I suppose...” Cruz trailed off, her expression stormy and conflicted. “I just don’t...”

Seeing her trail off again, I turned and motioned for Casey to leave the room. Thankfully, Casey was a canny sort who had already been packing their things before I’d even turned around, and left the room mere seconds later.

Now that Cruz and I were alone, and we could speak more freely — Moonshot to Moonshot — I got her attention and made sure to look her in the eyes before speaking.

“You’re wondering how he could do this to you,” I suggested, my tone soft and gentle. “Because even if the love was gone, you’d still cared for one another, and you can’t understand how or why he would do this. Am I right?” She didn’t reply, and after a few seconds, I asked one more question. “Was it after he found out you were Moonshot?”

To my dismay, she nodded.

“He got... weird, about it,” Cruz said, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips. “He’d been all on board with some of our newer smart devices, but then I came home one day and the smart locks were all gone, and some of the appliances had been swapped for older ones. He started using paper more, too. I told him I couldn’t do audio with my powers so he’d know he could at least call people without me being able to know what he said, but, well...”

“We saw how that turned out,” I said, gesturing at the room we were in.

“Yeah. That.” Her tone was morose. All of the performative anger I’d seen her wear as armor was gone now; all that remained was a somber, bitter, almost broken shell of a woman. She didn’t know why this had happened, and it was clearly eating away at her — even assuming her ex went away for this and didn’t just get a sweetheart deal due to... reasons... that wouldn’t give her the closure she needed.

“I have a theory,” I began, and my ears fell low as Cruz’s eyes flicked towards me, wary and suspicious. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“Hah,” she scoffed, then sighed. “Just say it.”

“If you insist,” I sighed. “What were the... ahem, power dynamics in your relationship?”

“Stop pussyfooting around it,” she grumbled.

“Alright; who wore the pants?”

Scandalized silence was all that met me. Cruz’s eyes were wide, and she seemed not to even be able to breathe at the sheer temerity of my response. But I soldiered on regardless, because I had only begun to make my point.

“I looked over all the financial disclosures for your divorce,” I continued, pulling her back down to earth in the process, “along with the prenup and the filing itself, and all of it paints the picture of him being the one in control. You had riches, but he came in with wealth; you had a network of contacts, he had society connections; you had investments, he had a living trust. In all things, he could clearly position himself as being above you — but then it came out that you were Moonshot, that you had power of a sort that he could never match, absent an exceedingly rare cosmic fluke. Suddenly you weren’t his lesser that he could always overcome with little effort; instead, everything about your relationship became a matter of you humoring him, because all it would’ve taken you was a moment’s thought and a snap of your fingers to destroy everything he’s ever had.”“That’s ridiculous!” Cruz snapped back. “Where the fuck did you get that idea from!?”

“From the case that had my boss decide to never take on a family law case ‘as a favor’ ever again,” I answered. “Just substitute ‘has superpowers’ for ‘won the lottery’ and you’d get painfully close. Well, minus the whole criminal conspiracy part. Still, let the thought sit for a moment, and ask yourself: were you ever able to put yourself above him in position, in accomplishments, in standing?”

A second passed as I waited for an answer. Then two, three, four.

Cruz’s silence was positively deafening.

“Look, I... I’m sorry about this. I really am. But trust me when I say that this will only be as big of a blow as you let it.”

“... you would know, wouldn’t you?” Cruz didn’t glare at me again, but it was still a side-eye.

“Yeah. I do.”

Discussion died for a moment there as the weight of implication settled over us. Thankfully, though, the buzzing of Cruz’s phone broke the silence, and when I saw her go a little bit cross-eyed using her power to check what had just come in, I took that opportunity to pack away my things and finally head out.

“One last thing,” I said quietly once I’d stood up from my chair. Cruz looked my way and raised an eyebrow, then gestured for me to keep going. “I have a request. Unrelated to your case, and a little, how do I put this... dubious, if it weren’t already for something under the table.”

“... I’m listening.”

I laid out the nature of my request. And while I’d expected some kind of pushback, possibly even an outright refusal paired with a threat tossed back my way, that wasn’t what I received. Instead, Rachael Cruz just agreed.

And so what would’ve taken several days and an extensive paper trail was instead done in... five minutes.

Cruz left the conference room first. I took my own leave one minute later, and was met with an interesting and unexpected sight: Casey cheerfully chatting up the trainee AUSA, Cynthia Pepperdine.

“Hope you weren’t waiting too long,” I said, offering Casey a smile once they looked my way.

“Oh no, not at all! Cynthia and I were just chatting — wait, that’s not a problem, is it?” they asked, suddenly sounding worried.

“So long as it wasn’t about the case...” I turned to look at AUSA Pepperdine, who simply shook her head and brushed a strand of hair back out of her face.

“Not at all!” she assured me with a smile. “Casey here was just telling me if any of the rumors we heard about Georgetown the last few years were true.”

“Okay...” I murmured, fixing Casey with a LookTM while lowering an ear in question. “What rumors are these?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Casey demurred, buffing their nails against their blazer with a look of amused indifference, “just got the Federalist Society banned from Georgetown and all the funds they’d soaked up clawed back for distribution to the real student orgs.”

“... you what.”

“Oh yeah, it was a whole thing, but it made a bunch of alumni really mad.”

“And rumor is it’s starting to cause some pushback against the Federalist Society on other campuses,” Cynthia broke in smoothly. She stepped my way and extended a hand, favoring me with a reserved smile. “AUSA Cynthia Pepperdine. A pleasure to properly meet you, Ms. Ziegler.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, and my condolences for having to suffer Bergdorf,” I commiserated. “His reputation precedes him, and not in a good way. Is the previous AUSA alright? I remember you saying something about her being on leave.”

“Well, I’ve already seen her back at work twice, hopping along on crutches, so I think she’ll be back full-time before long. Actually, I did want to ask you something,” she continued, a pensive expression growing on her face. “Feel free to put off answering until this case has wrapped, obviously, but um, would you happen to know where I can find some good resources on Moonshot case law? Our Moonshot seminar at GW was, well... it wasn’t great.”

“Unfortunately, that’s pretty obvious,” I told her. “Casey and I compared notes, and the only difference between when we each took it is the up-to-date cases, like Aeolian v. Aeolus; God, what a mess that was...”

“I’m unfamiliar with that one too, I’m afraid,” Cynthia admitted sheepishly.

“Trademark dispute between two indie supers out in Chicago,” I told her. “Aeolus came first, that pretentious prick, but Aeolian is the one who actually filed for a trademark. I don’t know the rest of the specifics, just that SCOTUS found in favor of Aeolian. Anyway, back to the point; you wanted good resources for Moonshot case law?”

“Please?” The young AUSA gently clasped her hands in front of her, and believe me when I say it was adorable. “I’ve barely been given leeway to look up anything of interest while Berman was on leave, and Bergdorf keeps making me handle every bit of paperwork that comes his way!”

“Yup, sounds like Bergdorf,” I glowered, ears folding low, but perked them back up and reached into my briefcase for a business card and a pen. “Anyway! I wasn’t able to run it last year due to a scheduling conflict, but for three of the last four years, my firm has let me host a seminar on Moonshot-specific case law for anyone looking to expand their practice to the Moonshot Claims Court. And while some of the knowledge there is specific to the Court of Federal Claims, the majority of it would be incredibly useful to you!”

“Oh, that would be perfect!” she exclaimed. A quick glance to the side let me know I’d piqued Casey’s interest too, which was even better in my book. “Do you know when that’s going to be?”

“Well I usually do it in the middle of October, but this year the Japanese Embassy is hosting a gala on the 15th and I both want and need to go to that one, so I’m going to try and push it to September instead, though when in the month is still a bit up in the air,” I said, writing the dates on the back of a business card. “Just send me an email once you know if you can attend or not!”

“That would be amazing, thank you!” Cynthia said as she accepted the business card, and tucked it into her bag. “Anyway, I should probably get going; I still need to stop by Farley’s chambers and say hi to everyone before heading back. Thank you again, Ms. Ziegler!” Then she turned to Casey, and gave them a small half-hug. “It was nice to meet you, Casey; good luck on the Bar!”

“T-thanks, I appreciate it!” they said, reciprocating the half-hug.

Then AUSA Cynthia Pepperdine bustled down the hall away from the elevators, and we were alone.

“... sooooo,” I began, my tail swaying softly as Casey fought back a blush. “She’s cute.”

“And gay,” they mumbled, a frown fighting against their blush. “Ribbon tying up her hair was long bacon.”

Long bacon? What did that... ooh, wait, no, I knew this one! Lesbian pride flag!

... which told me that my cute little law clerk needed to be reminded of something.

“Casey,” I lowered my voice. “Honey. You’re not a man.”

It took a few seconds, but it was like a lightbulb turned on in Casey’s head, which made their cheeks redden that much more.

“Anyways, it is now,” I checked my watch, “still not even eight o’clock, and we’re not usually due into the office by nine. Plus, I’m starving. Want to get some breakfast?”

“Please,” Casey practically groaned, leaping on the change of topic the moment I presented it. “Know anywhere we can get diner fare?”

“You know, I do, actually! Know how to get to the convention center from here?”

“Oh, I know the place you’re talking about!” Casey exclaimed. “What’re we waiting for, then? C’mon!”

Needless to say, I was all too happy to oblige.