Blackmail

Each buzz caused Allen to clutch his phone tighter. He was sure he had dented the side with his grip despite knowing he didn’t have sufficient strength to damage the titanium frame.  

After taking a deep breath, he checked the notification and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the message came from his wife, not the person he feared. 

Allen wiped his brow and looked around his empty office. Despite it being a beautiful day outside, he kept the curtains drawn. The only light brightening the room came from the floor lamp in the corner and his computer's screen. No one needed to see him brooding. 

Writing this opinion filled him with dread. He had feared the case since it first made the news. Typically, his views angered one side of the country, no matter how he sided. This time, though, he knew the right thing to do did not align with all those who had backed him his entire career. 

The case felt heavy. Allen wished he could discuss the logistics with someone, but he felt isolated. Typically, he might discuss a case with one of the other Justices, but he didn't think any of the Justices would be discussing this one. It would fall on party lines, except this time, he didn't think he could vote with his party. 

No one understood the weight of the impending request either. 

The President, who had nominated him to the top court, had made his expectations very clear. Even back then.

Weston, the President's Fixer, visited him ten years ago as he unpacked his things in his new office. The balding man had entered without knocking and strode through the room until he reached Allen's desk.

Allen stopped placing his books on the shelf to watch. The aura emanating out of Weston made up for the man's lack of height and hair. He knew The Fixer’s reputation, so he didn't have to ask why he came to visit. He knew immediately how his future had been sealed. 

"Congratulations on your new appointment," Weston said as he surveyed all the boxes and books. 

"Can I help you?" Allen asked. He would always wonder if he would have this weight on him now if he hadn’t asked.

Weston moved a few things on the desk around to his own liking. "Eventually." Somehow, the word felt threatening. 

"And if you don’t answer when called,” Weston tilted his head towards his right shoulder, “Henry will be made public." 

Allen blinked in outrage and shock. Every meeting between him and Henry had been safe. If people found out about Henry, his party would abandon him, and his career would be in shambles. 

"I take it from your silence that you understand the situation," the Fixer said. "But the good news is, we will only need you once. Then, you'll be free," he spread his hands out with open palms.

As a prosecutor, he had been threatened before, but never before had one shaken him to his core until now. 

It took him a few weeks to get his confidence. In the meantime, he stopped meeting with Henry. Eventually, he returned to normal, but the fear of being called or having his secrets divulged clung to him like a cancer.

Allen snapped back to the present as his office door opened.

Weston stood in the doorway. He looked older. His hair had nearly vanished, as well as most of his physique. Yet, he still maintained the threatening aura. Allen wanted to run and hide. Then Weston entered, walking with a limp on his right side. It looked like the man had been through hell in the intervening years. 

Allen’s entire body clenched. 

"Hello, Justice," Weston said. 

Allen nodded his head in return. Instead, he inched his hand closer to the top left drawer, which held his handgun. 

"How are you feeling about the case?" Weston asked, pausing before he spoke the last word. 

Allen could pander to him, ask which one he meant—the docket was full, after all, but he knew it wouldn't do anything but stall. Instead, he croaked, "It's a tough case."

"Shouldn't be that tough. You know who got you this job after all."

All the regret built up over the years gathered in Allen’s stomach. He could taste the bile, ready to spew. His fingernails dug into his palms. If he squeezed any tighter, blood would run. 

"I take it, The President, and I can count on your opinion?" he said, narrowing his eyes. The words came out as a question, but Allen knew they weren't. 

No matter what, this moment would haunt him for the rest of his life. Allen couldn't see an easy exit. He knew the only way to get rid of Weston would be to pledge his allegiance, so he nodded. 

"Excellent. If you could include something flattering about the President in your brief, that would be even better for his reelection campaign," he said as he turned to limp away. 

He left Allen as alone as ever. Allen thought about his wife and Henry. He thought about his career and what he thought had brought him here. Each turn of his mind brought more regret. 

He regarded the case and what he should do. If he followed the request, the former President would have untold power. Of course, he would be in the man's good graces, which would benefit himself.

Allen shook his head in shame. He couldn’t rationalize the order with his morality.    

He turned back to his computer and erased part of his brief. It would need a rewrite. Then, he opened his top left drawer and withdrew his pistol. 

He ensured it was loaded, then rested it on his desk next to his keyboard and mouse. He needed to find the courage to do what needed to be done next. 

From The Author

While current events inspired this story, I don't want to slant either side of the aisle. I mean no side or person harm or disrespect, so please, don't attack me.

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this, please hit that heart button and leave me a comment. Of course, you can always follow me as I publish more and check out some of my other stories!

You can also see more from me at my website: JSwordSmith.com.