Day two of the *David Morales* trial opened much like any other: the courtroom abuzz with anticipation, the media circus growing large outside with every passing minute. But while that focus inside the courthouse remained squarely on the high-profile case, something far more dangerous brewed quietly in the background.

Back at Zander Office, an unmarked envelope had come much earlier that morning. No return address. No name. Just a plain white envelope that lay on the receptionist's desk. Karen Foster had been getting ready to leave en route to the courthouse when she saw it. She frowned as she lifted it, knowing instinctively that something was wrong with the weight of the paper inside. She burst into Uriel's office, the envelope clutched tightly in her hand.

"Uriel," Karen said—her tone tight with tension. "You need to see this."

Uriel looked up from his desk, eyes narrowing at the sight of the envelope. Immediately, he could tell this was serious as Karen handed it to him. He opened it with care, drawing out a single piece of paper; his brow furrowed as he read the brief, handwritten note.

To Mr. Uriel Zander,

*You have proven to be a very brilliant attorney; allow me to reduce this to the simplest of terms possible for you: Step away from the Morales case or you will have to face the consequences. Five million bucks will be transferred into your account within the next 24 hours if you step down as his attorney. This is your one and only warning.

Uriel's eyes hardened as he read the note. In one instant, his mind started to fill in the implications of that message. This wasn't a threat; this was an overture. One that was supposed to scare him off—or worse—still test his loyalty.

"Five million dollars to walk away," Uriel muttered sotto voce. He passed the note across to Karen, who digested its contents in the length of time it took to bat an eyelash; her eyes were wide with incredulity.

"They're desperate," Karen said in a hushed tone. "They want this case to just go away."

"They're trying to buy us off," Uriel said in an icy voice. "The fact that they are giving away this much means we are reaching too close to something they want to keep hidden."

Karen nodded, her face taut with strain. "What do we do?"

Uriel stood, carefully folding the letter and replacing it in the envelope. "We don't back down. This proves we're on the right track, but it also means things are about to get more dangerous."

Karen sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I'll let Jake know. We need extra security."

Later that afternoon, Uriel and Karen sat in a small conference room with *Jake Oliver*, their trusted private investigator and former NYPD detective. He watched as Uriel handed him the letter. Jake skimmed it, then looked up, his face grim.

"Well, it was only a matter of time before they tried to intimidate you," Jake said with an even tone, but serious. "Five million's a lot of money to just walk away."

Uriel leaned in closer, his eyes razor-sharp. "We are not walking away."

"I thought so," Jake beamed in pride. "But we gotta be smart about it. When they're going to make offers, they are likewise prepared in that regard to make that offer quite convincing. I'll ask some people I know inside the NYPD, 'Get 'em to watch your place, Karen's place, and anyone else they might threaten.'"

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Karen nodded, a little frightened but determined. "You don't think they really would come after us?"

Jake's expression turned dark. "They issued a warning. Whether they plan to follow through depends on how big a threat they perceive us as. Nevertheless, these are not street thugs but organized crime. They do not make threats for nothing."

Uriel turned to Jake. "You think they'll try something more direct?"

Jake nodded. "Maybe. If they think you're getting too close to the truth. Offering money is the easy way out. But if you don't take it, they'll escalate."

Uriel sighed, knowing Jake was right. "Let's get the police involved. We need eyes on us all the time."

Jake stood up, already reaching for his phone. "I will call one or two of my contacts. We shall cover everyone."

Back in the courtroom, Uriel's focus sharpened as he and Karen walked through the courthouse doors. The letter had really troubled him, but he could not afford to divert his attention now. Today was deleterious; if they were going to plant seeds of doubt in the minds of the jury, it could already be too late, as they were starting to make their move.

The prosecution pressed on with its aggressive course by bringing in even more and more witnesses to further pad its case against Morales. *ADA Grace Mitchell* moved businesslike, orchestrating the jury through evidence with precision and in control. Ballistic evidence linked Morales to many of the murders; phone records showed communications between Morales and other cartel members before and after the killings.

But Uriel was ready. He'd labored through the night, working out a strategy of cross-examination, and now it was time to start demolishing the prosecution's case.

This morning's first witness had been a ballistic expert testifying that several bullets recovered from the murder scenes matched a gun owned by Morales. His testimony had been quite compelling, and the members of the jury had acted as though they were hanging on to every word.

For Uriel, when the time came to cross-examine, he calmly stood up; his voice was measured and firm. "Mr. Davis," Uriel started with, addressing the expert in ballistics, "you testified that several bullets recovered from various crime scenes came from a gun registered to my client, David Morales. Correct?"

The expert nodded. "That's right."

"And to that, could you tell the court how you determined that match?"

The expert immediately went on to a technical explanation about how the ballistics analysis worked, comparing bullets to the gun. Uriel was biding his time.

"In other words, what you are saying is that the bullets are consistent with the type of gun my client owns, but don't necessarily lead to the conclusion that my client fired them. Right?"

The expert hesitated. "It doesn't mean he has fired the gun, but—"

Uriel interrupted him a second time, his tone flat and neutral. "So, speaking hypothetically, that gun might have been used by someone else to commit these murders, right?"

The expert shifted uncomfortable. "Yes, it could have, speaking hypothetically."

Uriel faced the jury, leaving it at that. "Thank you, Mr. Davis. Nothing further."

The jurors didn't exactly turn from his case, but Uriel knew he'd left a small seed of doubt. It was little more than that, but it was something.

As the second day of trial ended, Uriel and his staff retreated to the office. While they were well and good in the court, the letter continued to hang over their heads. Karen sat at her desk, typing notes of the day in trial, as Jake was on the phone with the NYPD contacts, setting up extra security around everyone's homes. "I've got officers watching your place, Karen's, and Leo's," Jake said as he hung up the phone. "They'll be discrete, but they'll be there if anything happens."

Uriel nodded, gratitude in his eyes, but still cautious. "Good. We'll be needing them."

Karen looked up from her desk, an anxious expression etched across her face. "You don't think they'd try anything tonight, do you?"

Uriel clenched his jaw. "I don't know. But we gotta be ready."

Jake nodded toward the letter still lying on Uriel's desk. "They're just getting started. That was just the opening offer. And if you don't take the money, they'll turn up the heat."

Uriel got to his feet, voice clear without hesitation. "Let 'em try. We ain't runnin' nowhere."

And now into the night, as the team kept working and working well into the late hours of the evening, the air in that office just continued to grow thicker and thicker. Far from over, the trial was, with a real threat dangling over their heads. But one thing was for sure: they were closing in on the truth. Which means that the cartel and the organization are running out of time.

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