Uriel Zander barreled through Manhattan's almost-deserted streets, his mind tangling into a ball of uncertainty. Daniel's panicked voice still echoed in his ears as he turned onto the address he'd been given—his old classmate's girlfriend's apartment. The gravity of what he was about to walk into weighed heavily upon him. This wasn't just a case anymore; this was personal.

The streets were poorly lit, the hum of the city serving as a background buzz. Uriel parked the car a block away and hurried down the sidewalk, his mind racing through every possible scenario. He was not certain what he was going to find, but he had to be ready for anything.

Reaching the building, he took a great breath and jabbed at the buzzer. With a few tense moments, the door clicked open, and Uriel entered the lobby. The building was old—just that kind of place that usually sees much better days—but it was quiet. Too quiet, he thought. He knocked on the apartment door, quickening his pulse. When Daniel opened it, Uriel felt a wave of desperation in his old friend's eyes. Pale, his clothes rumpled, and his hands shaking slightly, he stepped apart to let Uriel in.

The air was thick in that small apartment. Furniture overturned, signs of enormous struggle everywhere; there, completely still on the floor, lay Daniel's girlfriend—her body crumpled in some unnatural angle. Uriel took it all in with cold, professional detachment.

He had seen crime scenes before, but this was different altogether. He hunched down beside the body for a moment, observing the bruising and lack of any immediate signs of a weapon used. He needed to think fast.

Behind him, Daniel was wringing his hands. "I didn't mean to," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. "We were fighting, and I... I just lost control. It was an accident, Uriel, I swear."

Uriel rose to his feet as his mind began racing through the legal consequences involved. Little time was left for debating morality, with Daniel crossing the line, and it was about damage control.

"Come on, Daniel, lighten up for one second," Uriel said in a low, intense voice. "We might be able to handle this, but you're going to have to listen, exactly."

Daniel nodded, his eyes wide with fear. "I'll do whatever you say. Please—Uriel. I'll pay you—$15,000. I know that you are not at the Public Defender's Office for money, but I'll give you everything I have. Just… help me."

Uriel stopped. Money talked, his rather modest public defender paycheck didn't. Rent for a tiny apartment wasn't getting any cheaper either. Fifteen thousand dollars would make his life much easier.

A moment later, he nodded. "Alright. I'll represent you if it comes to that. But first, let's get something straight—you don't make things worse from where you are."

Uriel took Daniel through the basics of what he needed to say when the police inevitably arrived. They had to call 911—there was no getting around that—but Uriel was going to make sure Daniel didn't incriminate himself any more than necessary.

"Here's what you're going to do," Uriel said, pacing the room, his voice as calm and commanding as a metronome. "When the police come, it's going to be one story. You tell them the truth, but only the part that matters: it was an argument that got out of hand, it was an accident. You didn't mean for this to happen."

Daniel nodded, his face pale and drawn. "What if they don't take my word?"

"They don't have to believe you right now," Uriel said, fixing Daniel with a steady look. "They just need to hear the gist. Don't, under any circumstance, go into unnecessary details. And definitely don't speculate about what must have happened. Just tell them what I told you—nothing more, nothing less."

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Daniel's hands shook as he ran them through his hair. "I can do that. I can do that."

Uriel glanced at his watch and knew they really couldn't help it anymore. He dialed 911, and when he spoke, his voice was even as he related what happened, putting the incident in the context of an argument gone completely wrong. The dispatcher assured him that there would shortly be an ambulance on the scene, accompanied by the police.

When he hung up, Uriel again turned to Daniel. "They'll take you in for questioning. And when they do, you tell them you're invoking your right to remain silent until your attorney—me—arrives. Don't say anything else."

The minutes ticked by in agonizing silence until the distant wail of sirens filled the air. Uriel stood near the door as paramedics and police arrived. The officers immediately took in the scene—the faces of the officers hardened with what had taken place.

"He's your man to talk to," Uriel said matter-of-factly, nodding in Daniel's direction.

The officers closed in, and Daniel quivered like a leaf, but nodded. "It was an accident," he stuttered out, echoing the words that had become his mantra courtesy of Uriel. "We were fighting… I didn't mean to hurt her. I'm sorry. I just want to talk to my attorney."

They cuffed Daniel, recited his rights, and whisked him out of the apartment. Uriel trailed after them, his eyes on the paramedics working over Daniel's girlfriend. He knew what the outcome would be, but formalities needed to be observed.

Outside, Uriel quickly called his boss, Tom Reardon. The phone rang only once before Reardon picked up, his voice gruff as always.

"Zander, what the bloody hell are you calling me for at this hour?"

"I have a situation," Uriel said, his voice level. "An old friend from law school just got arrested for killing his girlfriend during an argument. I need to take this case, if it comes to that."

There was a pause on the other end. "You sure about that? You've been working high-profile cases for the office. You really want to mix this in with everything else?"

"I know how it looks," Uriel replied, "but I really need to take this on. It's personal, and I think I can handle it."

Reardon just grunted. "Alright. You've got enough goodwill built up around here. Just keep me in the loop."

Uriel hung up, knowing he'd gotten Reardon's blessing. It wasn't a surprise—his reputation within the Public Defender's Office provided him a certain amount of latitude, especially coming off the recent win in the Salazar case.

Uriel arrived at the station-house just in time to head off the police's attempts to take Daniel down to the interrogation room, and sat him down at the table in the interrogation room; Uriel sat opposite him.

"Remember what we discussed," Uriel whispered as the officers prepared to interrogate him. "Keep it simple, keep it consistent. They're gonna push you, but you don't give them anything they can use against you."

The no-nonsense lead detective, Detective Maya Torres, entered and sat opposite Daniel; her eyes cold and calculating. Uriel had seen her around the courthouse a number of times and knew she was one of the toughest interrogators.

"Daniel," Torres started, leaning forward in her chair. "We know this was an accident. But we want to hear it from you. Just tell us what happened."

Uriel laid a cautioning hand on Daniel's arm. Daniel was breathing unsteadily, but his voice emerged firm. "It was a fight," he said, the cracking of his voice belying this calmness. "It got out of hand. I didn't mean it to happen."

The gaze Torres gave him narrowed. "And how exactly did things 'get out of control'? What did you do?"

Uriel slid in, smooth as silk. "My client has already told you it was an accident. He's explained it was during a fight, and he's very sorry. Beyond that, we aren't answering any more questions without a formal statement."

Torres continued to stare in his direction, visibly irritated with the interjection. She knew how to work with suspects; however, Uriel just would not let her take advantage of Daniel's vulnerable state of mind.

After several rounds, it was clear that Daniel was not going to utter another word, at least without consent from Uriel. It was then that Torres stood and, in one motion, told the officers to take Daniel to a holding cell.

Uriel watched, the weight of it all settling in his chest as they led Daniel away. He'd agreed to represent his old friend, but this case was going to be more complicated than anything he'd ever handled before.

As Uriel stepped out of the station, into the cold night air, it dawned on him that he wasn't so much fighting for a client's freedom. He was fighting for his sense of what was right—and what it means to be a defense attorney.