Forever Right Now

He nodded. “I like you, Mr. Haas. I think you’re a brilliant lawyer.”

I fought to keep my face neutral. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

He’s made a decision. He’s going to give it to me. Holy shit, all that work and struggle and long nights.

“On paper,” he said.

My body stiffened. “Thank you.” It almost came out sounding like a question.

“Your brief today was impeccable; not a precedent missed, every argument meticulously researched. It was better than Mr. Harris’s in that regard. But do you know what his briefing had that yours lacked?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Life.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand…”

“You have a little girl, do you not?”

“Yes. Thirteen months old.”

Judge Miller smiled and inclined his chin at the photo on the wall. “My granddaughter, Abigail, is about that age. She’s a joy.” His smile tightened. “I want to give you the clerkship, Mr. Haas, but if I had to choose today, I would pick Mr. Harris.”

My galloping heart stopped and plummeted to my knees. I straightened my shoulders, determined to take this like a man, but my mouth had gone dry.

“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” I managed. “I don’t understand.”

“As I said your brief was impeccable. Scholarly and purely academic. Which is understandable as you are an academic at this stage.” He leaned his arms on his desk, fingers laced. “In the course of preparing this brief, did you consider Johnson v. McKenzie?”

I scanned my mental catalog and pulled up the case.

“That was…an appeal,” I said, mentally reading. “The defendant’s sentence was reduced due to good behavior and programs completed during prison time. I don’t see how that’s relevant…”

“It’s relevant,” Judge Miller said, “to a brief concerned with the overcrowding of prison populations. You argued, strongly I might add, for the strict use of mandatory sentencing and unequivocal upholding of the Three Strikes law.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. “Those are the laws.”

Judge Miller nodded. “Nowhere in your brief did you make any stipulation for the defendant’s rehabilitation or his continued education in the prison system.”

“I wasn’t aware that you were asking for me to take a position on such things,” I said. “I was merely providing the appropriate laws pertinent to the matter at hand.”

“Yes, and you did it brilliantly. You are brilliant, Mr. Haas. I have no question or doubt that you would make an exceptional prosecutor. And to be perfectly frank, I’d rather not work with Mr. Harris.” He pursed his lip. “He’s a bit of a bore. But I’m concerned that you see only the law; the words on paper, and not the lives behind them.”

I straightened to my full height. “I don’t understand, Your Honor. The law is the law. Isn’t our duty to uphold it as it is written?”

He held my gaze, lips pursed. “Why do you want to be a federal prosecutor?”

For my mother.

“Justice,” I said. “The punishment should fit the crime, and the criminal should be punished.”

“And leniency?”

“I…I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know that personal feelings should interfere with this kind of work.”

Judge Miller sighed. “I’ve seen your type before. Full of piss and vinegar, as my father would’ve said. More concerned with being right than with being fair. You are not a coldhearted man. I can see that in you. But feelings, Mr. Haas, are what make us human. And humanity should be the beating heart of justice.” He leaned back in his seat and reached for some papers on his desk. “That is all.”

I left Judge Miller’s chambers feeling as if I had just been sucker punched and then doused in ice water. I had no idea what he was asking of me. In the deep catalog of California law codes I had committed to memory, there wasn’t one mention of emotions or feelings. That’s why I liked law. It was black and white, right and wrong.