The Cartel Lawyer Dave Daren (best motivational books for students .txt) 📖

“We should be at the judge’s house in half an hour,” our driver said as he pulled onto the highway.

“Great,” I said. “He should be there when we arrive.”

“He better be,” Alvaro muttered.

I hoped for the judge’s sake that he was at his house, ready, and waiting for us to show up.

The drive was quiet as we flew down the highway to the outskirts of the city, and soon we had pulled into the waterfront subdivision where the judge’s house was located. The houses were all made out of a beautiful white stone that reflected the late afternoon light, and each property boasted a bright green lawn with varying tropical plants and rose bushes in an impressive display of gardening prowess.

The judge’s house was a two story colonial mansion that was made of the same white stone as every other house, with black shutters on the windows, and a bright red door that peeked out between massive columns. There was a carport and a two car garage to the right of the house where a dark-red Nissan Rogue sat under the covering, and a black Mustang was visible through the opened garage door.

Our driver parked beside the Nissan Rogue, shut off the ignition, and then waited for Alvaro and I to climb out before he rolled down his window and lit a cigarette.

“We shouldn’t be more than an hour,” Alvaro informed the man as we walked around the side of our black SUV.

“Sure thing,” the driver responded with a nod.

“Are you ready, Jipato?” the second in command asked me with his usual smirk.

I sighed, but the nickname our boss had given me seemed to have stuck. At least it reminded me of my father, so it wasn’t all that bad.

“Let’s do this,” I replied and then led the tall shadow man to the front door.

A young woman in a pale blue maid’s outfit answered the door. She had pale skin and bright blue eyes, an angular nose and jaw, and dark brown hair that she’d pulled up into a bun.

“May I help you?” she asked in a thick Eastern European accent.

“We have an appointment with Judge Williams,” I said with a bright smile.

“Ah, yes,” she muttered as she stepped aside and motioned for us to come in. “The judge will see you in his office. Follow me.”

The petite woman led us through the marble-floored hallways with it’s high ceiling and dark maple wood tables. She passed heavy wooden doors with golden handles, and a large gilded mirror that reflected a massive open kitchen with shiny chrome equipment and pure white cabinets.

“Mr. Williams?” the woman asked through a shut door as she knocked. “Your guests are here.”

“Send them in,” the magistrate huffed.

She stepped into the office to hold open the door for us and then quietly shut it behind her as she left us in the private room. It was exactly what I thought it would be with heavy, dark wood bookshelves that were filled with leatherbound books. There were two brown leather chairs on our side of the mahogany desk, and a matching swivel chair on the other side where the judge sat.

He was backlit by the arched window behind him, but the scowl on his face was still clearly visible. He was in a dark blue polo instead of the button up he wore at the courthouse, and he seemed to take up the entire space behind the desk with his large body.

“I thought it would just be you,” the fat man accused as I crossed the office and sat in one of the chairs without invitation.

“I am here to represent Mr. Fuentes,” Alvaro answered for me as he took the other chair.

The tall man crossed one leg over the other, but he still seemed to take up the entire room with his presence as he stared at the judge with his almost black eyes.

“Of course you are,” the judge snarled at Alvaro before he turned his attention to me. “So what is it that you think you found?”

“I have found a substantial amount of evidence that proves that you’ve been accepting bribes to send children to jail,” I explained. “Now, my initial reaction was to take all of this information to the DA. But, I’d rather not ruin everything that you’ve built over a simple mistake.”

I gestured around the room and it’s expensive furnishings. I had the urge to wipe my sweaty palms on my pants but resisted at the last second. I had to be calm and unfazed, like I was presenting my arguments in a courtroom, even if we were in the judge’s private residence.

“A mistake,” the old magistrate said as he narrowed his eyes.

“Of course,” I grinned. “This can still all be fixed.”

“How so?” the opportunistic man asked.

“First,” I started as I shifted in my seat so that I sat with my back straight. “You will have Camilo and his friend resentenced. We both know they didn’t deserve such a long stay at Everson.”

“Naturally,” Judge Travis Williams grumbled while he sat back in his chair and glared at me.

“And you can show that you’ve learned your lesson by giving lighter sentences to those who might deserve a little leniency,” I continued. “We can help you realize who those people are.”

I couldn’t believe that I’d just said those words out loud, but I kept my face carefully blank as I watched the fat magistrate. I had just told an officer of the court that I wouldn’t turn him into the DA if he gave me leniency when I brought a case in front of him, but it was a necessary evil to make sure that the judge would be on a leash, and he wouldn’t be able to send