Freedom did not feel the way Aham had imagined it.
The city moved too fast, the air felt too loud, and every passing face seemed to carry a judgment he could not escape. Clara noticed it immediately. She walked slightly ahead of him, shielding him from the worst of the stares, guiding him through the chaos with quiet confidence.
That evening, they sat in her office, the lights dim, rain tapping softly against the windows. For the first time since his release, Aham felt still.
He broke the silence.
"Clara... can I ask you something?"
She looked up from the files in her hand. "Of course."
"How did you find me?" His voice was calm, but his eyes weren't. "Out of all the prisons. Out of all the people."
Clara leaned back slowly, memories surfacing.
"I came to the prison to see a client," she began. "A young man who had been wrongly imprisoned. I was walking past the cells when I saw you-from a distance."
Aham's breath caught.
"I wasn't sure at first," she continued. "Time had changed you. Prison had changed you. But something about your eyes... it felt familiar. Too familiar."
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
"I went home that night and searched. Old orphanage records. Old names. Then I found the Armstrong case. When I confirmed it was really you, I couldn't pretend I hadn't seen you."
Aham swallowed hard.
"So... all this," he said quietly, "wasn't coincidence."
"No," Clara replied. "It was unfinished destiny."
In the days that followed, Clara worked relentlessly. She had cleared Aham's name legally, but reputation was another battlefield entirely.
They met with journalists who were willing to listen. Clara released carefully selected evidence-just enough to crack the public narrative without revealing everything.
Aham watched from the shadows as the world slowly began to question what it once accepted as truth.
But Clara wasn't done.
One night, she spread documents across her desk and pointed to a familiar name.
"Don Pedro," she said.
Aham's jaw tightened. "My parents' business partner."
"More than that," Clara replied. "Every illegal transaction tied to your case brushes against him in one way or another. Not directly. He's too careful."
She hesitated, then added, "And there's something else."
She pulled out an old investigative report.
"Your parents' accident," she said softly. "The details don't add up."
Aham stiffened.
"They called it fate," he murmured. "Wrong place. Wrong time."
Clara shook her head. "No eyewitnesses. No thorough follow-up. And Don Pedro's company absorbed key assets less than a month later."
Silence stretched between them.
Aham felt something dark coil inside his chest.
That night, Aham returned to the bar-the same one where he had met the old woman. He wasn't sure why. Maybe he was searching for meaning.
She was there.
Waiting.
"You look stronger," she said without turning.
"You said you knew my parents," Aham replied.
She smiled. "They were good people. Rare in that world."
"Do you know who destroyed them?" he asked.
Her expression hardened.
"I know who benefited," she said. "And I know who is afraid of you now."
She slid a folder across the table.
Inside were names. Accounts. Shell companies.
"Rebuilding isn't about money," she said. "It's about timing."
As weeks passed, Aham began again-quietly, strategically. Investments were made through hidden channels. Allies reached out from the past. Clara stayed close, not just as a lawyer, but as something deeper.
One evening, as they stood on a balcony overlooking the city, Clara spoke softly.
"You're not the same boy from the orphanage."
"And you're not either," Aham replied.
Their eyes met.
The past had shaped them.
The future would test them.
And somewhere in the shadows, Don Pedro felt a disturbance he could not yet explain.
The game had begun.