Uriel was sitting at his desk through the night, his eyes running over witness statements, police reports, and color photographs of the crime scene. A cup of steaming coffee sat untouched at his elbow. He had done what he did best for days—being who he was—measure up the prosecution's case bit by bit. The more he looked at it, the more he knew something wasn't right. The eyewitness accounts, the security camera footage, the ballistic report—on the surface it painted a damning picture of Miguel Salazar. But Uriel had learned long ago that the most perfect case often had the most glaring weaknesses. It was just a matter of finding them.

The first lead he had received was from reviewing the surveillance footage. A grainy, distant video vaguely depicted one or another running figure who resembled Salazar fleeing from the scene. The prosecution was touting the video loudly as bolstering their case, but Uriel harbored a suspicion that the footage wasn't as conclusive as it seemed. He instructed his investigator, *Jake Oliver*, to dig deeper into the footage. Jake had been a cop turned private investigator, and if anything on that video was shady, Jake would find it.

Uriel leaned back in his chair, taking a break from the papers. He flipped through the notes he'd taken from his visit to the scene of the crime earlier that day. There was something about the location that bothered him. The crime had taken place in a narrow alley between two buildings—an alley that locals used frequently as a shortcut. There really should have been more witnesses, yet only two had surfaced.

"Why just two?" Uriel muttered to himself. He noted to look deeper into the respective backgrounds of the witnesses. They might be reliable—or they might be concealing something.

Later that night, Uriel found himself in a SoHo bar off the main street, unwinding after a long day of burrowing into the labyrinthine case. The place was small and not very well-lit; a mix of young professionals and locals filled the bar. He sipped on bourbon and absently went through every detail of the case for what must have been the umpteenth time as his mind wandered away from distraction to distraction. Then he was aware of someone taking a seat on the stool beside him at the bar.

"Uriel Zander, right?" he asked rather smoothly, oozing self-assurance.

Uriel cast a sideway glance, suspicion already raised. "Depends on who's asking."

The man smiled, extended a hand: dressed in a tailored suit, screaming high-end corporate. "Ryan Holden. I'm with *Sullivan & Reade*."

Uriel lifted an eyebrow. Sullivan & Reade was a top-of-the-line law firm—nationally renowned for its high-profile corporate litigation and criminal defense cases. They had more resources than most people could only dream about, and their attorneys made salaries that made what Uriel pulled in at the Public Defender's Office look like chump change.

"What can I do for you, Ryan?" Uriel asked, sipping his bourbon.

Holden chuckled, like the answer should go without saying. "I'm here to make you an offer. We have been keeping tabs on you, Uriel. Your win rate, your approach in court—it's impressive. You have made quite a name for yourself. We think you will be a perfect fit at Sullivan & Reade."

Uriel set his drink down and studied Holden carefully. "I'm not in a hurry to join any firm right now. I like what I do."

"Sure," Holden said, nodding, "but how long are you going to be satisfied defending clients who can't pay you what you're worth? Or working cases where you're fighting uphill battles with one hand tied behind your back?"

Uriel leaned back, letting Holden's words sink in. This was not the first time such a big firm had approached him, but the timing of it—approaching him right in the middle of his most difficult case yet—rubbed him the wrong way.

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"Appreciate the offer," Uriel said coolly, "but I'm not looking for a change right now."

Holden leaned in a bit, his smile never faltering. "You're playing in the minor leagues, Uriel. Guys like you—brilliant, ambitious—you don't stay down there for long. When you're ready to make the jump, give me a call." He slid a business card across the bar and stood up. "Don't let this city chew you up before you take what's yours."

Uriel didn't pick up the card. He watched as Holden left the bar, his words hanging in the air like smoke.

A few days later, the trial began, and it was standing room only in the courtroom. Members of the media had latched on to the trial, and the gallery was full of reporters, curious spectators, and a few local activists keeping watch on how it would all go down.

District Attorney Ellen Price sat at her table, looking as confident as ever. She knew she had the upper hand. Evidence piled in on Salazar, a track record in court speaking for itself. Uriel could feel her eyes on him as he sat with Miguel Salazar, putting together his opening statement.

Before the trial got underway, Uriel leaned in close toward Salazar. "Don't react to anything that happens in there. Just stay calm. I've got a strategy, and we're going to stick to it."

Salazar gave a tense nod. He didn't look convinced, but Uriel could see the trust building. He had a reputation, and even his toughest clients believed in him when the time came.

The trial opened with Price laying out the prosecution's case in stark, unflinching terms. She painted Salazar as a ruthless gang member who had acted out of revenge. The witnesses were credible, the footage damning, and the ballistics report solid. As she spoke, Uriel noted the less-than-subtle way she played to the jury, her voice rising and falling, with practiced intensity.

When it was Uriel's turn for the opening statement, he rose calmly and walked toward the jury, his hands loosely at his sides.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he started off, firm in voice, "you have just heard a story—a contrived story that is meant to make you see one thing and one thing only. The prosecution wishes you to believe that Miguel Salazar is guilty. That all the evidence points to him, that no other possibility exists. But what if I told you that within that story, there are—holes? Holes large enough to create doubt, reasonable doubt?"

He let the silence maintain its hold for another few seconds before continuing. "Over the next few days, we're going to venture into those holes. We are going to look at the evidence, yes, but to what the prosecution doesn't want you to see, we're going to look. By the end of this trial, I believe you'll see that the real story here is not quite as clear-cut as it's been presented."

With that, Uriel returned to his seat, his face calm and composed.

The first few days of the trial were tough. The prosecution's witnesses took the stand, each of them with their version of having seen Salazar at the scene. Uriel cross-questioned each with accuracy, trying to find some discrepancy in their tales. One of the witnesses was a local shopkeeper who, under the questioning of Uriel, was very uneasy.

"You say you saw Miguel Salazar fleeing from the scene?" Uriel asked, his long legs taking him slowly in front of the jury.

The shopkeeper shifted uneasily in his seat. "Yeah, I saw him. I know what I saw."

Uriel nodded as if his mind was processing this. "But isn't it true that you only caught a glimpse of the person fleeing? The alley was dimly lit, and there were several people in the area, wasn't there?"

"Well... yeah, but it was him. I'm sure of it."

Uriel leaned in slightly. "You're sure? Or are you just repeating what the police told you to be sure of?"

The witness hesitated, and Uriel pounced. "Is it going to surprise you to hear that the police report filed subsequent to your statement is not consistent, in some respects, with what you've testified to today?"

The jury fidgeted, and Uriel knew immediately that he'd planted the first seeds of doubt.

Afterwards, when the day's proceedings were over, Uriel sat in his office alone going over the transcripts of the trial. As a matter of fact, he was gathering momentum, but what he needed now was that straw that would break the camel's back—the prosecution's case wide open. He still had Jake going through the footage from surveillance cameras; there were also threads to pull at with the witnesses. But time was running out, and the pressure was building.

As he stared at the papers in front of him, Uriel's phone buzzed. It was Jake.

"I've got something," Jake said in a low, excited voice. "That surveillance footage? It's been edited."

Uriel's heart skipped a beat. "Edited how?"

"Someone doctored the footage before it was turned over to the police. There's a missing segment that could show somebody else at the scene."

Uriel smiled to himself. It wasn't much yet, but it was enough. The case that seemed airtight was starting to crack open.

"Good work, Jake," Uriel said. "Send me all you have. We'll hit them with it tomorrow."