Shadows of the Law

The rain had a strange way of speaking that night — not in words, but in whispers, sliding down the cracked windowpane like it was trying to warn her. Twelve-year-old Adanna Cole sat on the living room floor, knees drawn up to her chest, coloring in the pages of a book she had long outgrown. The power had gone out an hour ago, and the candlelight on the low table threw ghostlike shapes against the walls.

Her mother was in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared a late dinner. Her father’s voice drifted from the study, warm and deliberate, as he dictated notes into his tape recorder — something about “court evidence” and “the case breaking wide open.” Adanna didn’t care much for her father’s work as a human rights lawyer. All she knew was that sometimes, people didn’t like him because he defended those the powerful wanted silenced.

Outside, the rain deepened into a downpour. The roof groaned under its weight. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked — one sharp cry that cut off too quickly.

The first knock came like a slap against the door.

Three hard raps.

Too hard. Too late at night.

Her mother froze mid-stir. “Adanna,” she called softly, “go to your room.”

“But—”

“Now.”

There was a tone in her voice Adanna had never heard before. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was something heavier, like she had been expecting this moment.

Her father’s footsteps crossed the hall quickly. He reached the door but didn’t open it. “Who’s there?”

Silence. Then, a deep voice, muffled by the wood: “We just want to talk, Barrister Cole.”

The hairs on Adanna’s arms stood up. Her father’s hand hovered over the lock, then drew back. “We can talk tomorrow. My family is—”

The door splintered inward.

It happened so fast that Adanna didn’t process the sequence — only flashes. Two men in dark jackets and masks are pushing through, the glint of metal in one man’s hand. Her mother’s scream. Her father is trying to shield them both, shouting something about the law. The first gunshot cracked like lightning, echoing in the small living room.

Adanna’s ears rang. She couldn’t move. The candle fell, rolling under the table, its flame shrinking into a guttering glow. The second shot knocked her father against the wall. He slid down slowly, like a puppet with cut strings.

Her mother lunged for her, grabbing her shoulders, shoving her toward the hallway. “Run, Ada! Go—”

A third shot.

Her mother’s hands went slack.

"Adanna stumbled backward and struck the wall with force." Her breath came in jagged bursts. The world around her slowed, sounds muffled except for the thundering of her heartbeat. She saw her mother lying still. Her father wasn’t moving.

One of the men stepped toward her.

Adanna’s vision tunneled, panic shoving her body into motion. She scrambled to her feet, tearing down the hallway toward her bedroom. She heard heavy boots chasing her. Her small fingers fumbled at the window latch — she managed to wrench it open just enough to squeeze her thin body through.

Cold rain swallowed her whole as she dropped into the backyard, hitting the wet earth. Pain flared in her ankle, but she ran, barefoot, the mud sucking at her feet. The neighbor’s fence loomed ahead; she climbed it clumsily, scraping her palms on the rough wood, dropping down on the other side.

Somewhere behind her, a voice cursed into the storm.

She didn’t stop until she reached the road. Headlights blinded her as a car screeched to a halt. The driver — Mrs. Opara from down the street — jumped out, her umbrella flying. “Adanna! Child, what—? Oh my God!” She wrapped her coat around her, pulling her into the car. Adanna could barely form words, her body shaking so hard her teeth clattered.

When they reached the police station, the smell of damp paper and stale coffee hit her. She tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out in order. The officers looked at each other, murmuring about how “these political cases are dangerous.” One officer asked her for descriptions, but she could only remember shadows and the glint of a gun.

That night, she learned two things.

One: The law could not always protect you.

Two: When it failed, you had to become the law yourself.

The Funeral

The days that followed were a blur of faces she didn’t recognize, voices speaking in polite, rehearsed sorrow. At the funeral, the priest talked about justice and eternal rest, but the words felt hollow. She stood between two distant aunts, her small hands clenched into fists so tight her nails dug into her palms.

Everywhere she looked, she saw people watching her — not with sympathy, but with curiosity. The kind of curiosity that came from knowing the truth but being too afraid to speak it. When she overheard one aunt whisper, "She shouldn't know everything now,” Adanna made a silent promise to herself: she would know everything, no matter what it cost.

The Oath

A week after the burial, she snuck into her father’s study. The police had collected evidence, which, judging by the empty drawers, meant they had taken almost everything. But in the back of a cabinet, she found his old leather briefcase. Inside was a single folder labeled Cole vs. Rivers State – Confidential. She didn’t understand the legal jargon, but one name repeated over and over: The Black Crest.

She whispered it aloud. It sounded like something out of a nightmare.

From that day forward, she carried that name in her heart like a burning coal. It was all she had left of the truth.

Fifteen Years Later

The rain still had a way of speaking to her. But now, instead of warning her, it seemed to echo her resolve. On nights when the city streets glistened under streetlamps, she would look out her apartment window and remember her parents’ faces. The fear in her mother’s eyes. The sound of her father’s voice trying to reason with men who had no use for reason.

It was the reason she became a lawyer. Not just any lawyer — a criminal prosecutor with a reputation for tearing apart corrupt witnesses and dismantling airtight alibis. She wasn’t interested in small crimes. She went after the big players — the syndicates, the power brokers, the men who thought themselves untouchable.

But every win felt incomplete. Because the Black Crest was still out there. And the faces behind those masks had never been unmasked.

That night in her office, the rain tapping at the windows like an old friend, her phone rang. Detective Banjo’s gruff voice came on the line.

“Cole,” he said, “we’ve got something. Big. A man named Ethan Cross. Name rings a bell?”

It didn’t. Not yet. But her pulse quickened anyway.

“Money laundering. Ties to the Black Crest.” A pause. “He’s charming, careful, but… something’s off. Thought you’d want to handle this one personally.”

Adanna leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing. “Send me everything you have.”

As she hung up, a strange feeling crept into her chest, a mix of anticipation and something she didn’t want to name.

Because if this Ethan Cross is tied to her parents’ murder, she wouldn’t stop until he broke down

Or until she did.