It was six months since *The People vs. Caden Spears* trial had ended, and life for Uriel Zander had really changed in many ways he never thought it would. Now 28, Uriel had fallen into place in his recently established office as the head of Zander Office, one of New York's hotly sought-after defense firms.

In no time, impossible cases won earned the firm its reputation. Managing high-profile clients, tough cases, and fierce opposition with a perfect balance kept the stress from boiling over. After a quarter of grueling trials, Uriel would shut down the office every quarter for a team vacation. It was a necessary pressure valve to keep it all manageable and his team sharp.

Today, though, was different.

They had just returned from the two-week trip to Amalfi—the calmness of the sea still refreshing the skin of their souls—when one new client came knocking, a case unlike anything Uriel had ever taken in before.

The office was Maelstrom, as usual. The spacious, block-like modern building hummed along with quiet efficiency that was so different from the cramped public defender's office where Uriel had started his career doing regulation work.

Uriel sat at his desk, studying some documents from their latest batch of cases, when Karen walked in, her face serious. Behind her trailed *Jake Oliver* and *Leo Ramirez*, already in the thick of a new investigation.

"Uriel," Karen said, stepping inside, her voice calm as always but urgent. "I have another potential client, asking for you personally, and it's big."

Uriel looked up at him curiously. "How big?"

"Accused of being a hitman. More than that, but this man is suspected to have committed eleven murders, all connected via the gangs in the Bronx," Karen added matter-of-factly.

Jake was leaning against the wall until now and spoke up. "I did some digging; his name's *David Morales*, street name 'Reaper.' Word is, he's been linked to a major gang up in the Bronx. The DA is calling him the most prolific contract killer the city's seen in a decade."

Leo nodded, already going over financial documents pertinent to the case. "They've got him tied to some pretty serious stuff, Uriel. But here's the kicker: Morales swears he didn't do it. Says he's being set up, framed by the same gang he supposedly worked for."

Uriel's brow arched; the familiar stir of curiosity and excitement at a tough case always seemed to hit him at moments like this. "Eleven murders, a gang, and a possible frame job. It sounds like they have already found him guilty."

Karen crossed her arms and turned a concerned countenance toward Uriel. "They have. The DA's office wants this to be an open-and-shut case. They're looking for a conviction, and they've got plenty of evidence to back it up—eyewitnesses, phone records, even ballistics."

"Which means," Uriel reflected, "that there is something they don't see. They are building that case too perfectly."

Jake smiled. "That's why I brought it to you; if anyone can find the holes, it's you."

Uriel leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he weighed the case's magnitude. It wasn't just another trial. They'd be going up against the state, the gangs, and the media if he decided to take it. Morales would be the most hated man in New York, and defending him was no small feat.

"Have you met him yet?" Uriel asked Karen.

"Not yet," Karen said. "He's at Rikers, waiting for representation. He's desperate, Uriel. He says he'll take the death penalty over going down for something he didn't do."

Uriel let that hang in the air a moment before he rounded on his feet. "We will meet him. I want to get what evidence they have of him and a sense from him of what we're up against."

After lunch, Uriel and Karen made their way to Rikers Island, where *David Morales* was being held. The facility was as grim as ever—the walls heavy with the weight of years of criminal history. Guards escorted them to a small visitation room. Morales sat there in chains, his expression hard, his eyes filled with something that did catch Uriel off guard: fear.

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Morales was still in his early thirties, well-muscled but lanky, with heavy tattoos covering his arms and across his neck. He was the kind of man a person would not want to cross, but something about the intensity in his gaze made Uriel realize he was more than just some other thug.

When Uriel and Karen had sat down, Morales looked from one to the other, his jaw tight. "You're the lawyer they sent to save me?"

Uriel's eyes met his. "I'm Uriel Zander, head of Zander Office. You asked for us specifically. Why?"

Morales leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, urgent tone. "Because I know what you do. You take on the cases nobody else will. I'm innocent, Zander. I didn't kill those people. The gang—the *Torres Cartel*—they're framing me. I worked with them, sure, but I'm not their killer. I've never killed anyone."

Karen leaned over toward him, a silent glance at Uriel before she spoke. "The DA has a mountain of evidence piled up against you. Eleven bodies linked to your name, Morales. Care to explain that?"

Morales ran a hand through his hair. "I-I don't know, but I didn't do it. I'm being set up because I know too much. They're making me their fall guy so that if they convict me, no one will ever know what the cartel is really doing."

Uriel studied Morales closely. His voice was laced with desperation, but through that, a ring of truth stood out regardless of the bleak circumstances. It was the same kind of look he had seen in many other clients who have had their backs placed up against a wall with no other option, plain and simple. Of course, the question was if Morales was telling the truth or just trying to save his own skin.

"The DA's office has witnesses, ballistics, and phone records, all tying you to the murders," Uriel said evenly, without a note of emotion. "If we're going to take this case, I need to know exactly what you know. No half-truths, no omissions."

Morales nodded, much more subdued. "I'll tell you everything, Zander, but you have to believe me—I didn't kill those people."

Uriel leaned back in his chair, considering the decision. To defend Morales was to invite risk, but Uriel had taken worse gambles. If Morales' story held even a thread of truth, Uriel would find that thread.

"We'll look into it," Uriel said finally, rising. "But if we take this case, we go all in. And if you're lying to us, there's nothing we can do to help you."

Morales nodded again; for the first time, his eyes showed hope since they had been in this room.

"I'm not lying," he said, his voice even. "I'm innocent."

Later that evening, back at the Zander Office, Uriel rounded up the team to talk over the case. They had pulled all of the initial files from the DA's office, and the evidence against Morales was overwhelming—but Uriel knew better than to take things at face value.

"We're going to have to dig deep," Uriel said, standing before his team. "Witnesses, ballistics, phone records—I want everything cross-checked. If Morales is telling the truth, there's a hole in the DA's case, and we're going to find it."

Karen nodded. She already went into the files. "The media's going to be all over this one. They've already painted Morales as a monster."

Jake grinned from his spot in the corner. "Let them. We’ll tear their narrative apart."

Leo was already going over financial records. "If Morales is right about being framed, we'll need to follow the money. Cartels are sloppy in nothing, including finances, but they leave trails."

Uriel cut his gaze to his team, his face mirroring the determination that had seen them through the Spears trial. This was going to be a hard fight, but it was exactly the kind of fight they were built for.

As the night wore on, and by trying to get some answers, a storm of strategies and possibilities swirled in his head. It was a case that was too dangerous, with the stakes running too high, but Uriel Zander had never turned his back on any challenge that came his way.

And that was only the beginning.