CHAPTER FIVE: Two Cases, No Time
Noah didn’t answer his phone the first time it rang.
Or the second.
But by the third call—in the middle of unpacking his bag and trying to forget the blood on Jordan Langston’s sleeve—he picked up with a short, flat, “Yeah?”
A woman’s voice came through, clipped but practiced.
“Mr. Keene, this is Darlene Ferris from Bellview County. Public defender’s office.”
Noah sighed. “What now?”
“We’d like to schedule a consult.”
“I’m not taking cases.”
“It’s regarding Isaiah Reed.”
He paused. “He already has representation.”
“He doesn’t. His mother declined the public defender. She’s asked to retain you privately.”
Noah rubbed his eyes. “I haven’t practiced in this state in over five years.”
“You’re still licensed.”
“That’s not the point.”
“She said you looked at her son like he was a human being. Apparently, that was enough.”
Fifteen minutes later, Noah sat in a folding chair in a room that smelled like old books and cold coffee. Across from him was Sarah Reed, mid-forties, eyes lined deep with fear and sleeplessness.
She pushed a faded envelope across the table.
“I don’t have much,” she said. “But I’ll pay what I can.”
Noah stared at the envelope.
“Ma’am,” he began, “you don’t need me. A public defender—”
“They’re not gonna fight for him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Her voice cracked but didn’t break.
“I know how this town works. Poor kids don’t get trials. They get sentences.”
Noah leaned back, thinking.
Sarah swallowed. “You saw him, didn’t you? At the fire?”
“I did.”
“He’s a good boy. He didn’t do this.”
“I believe you.”
She slid the envelope closer. “Then help him.”
The offer to take Jordan’s case came three hours later.
Langston Sr. called him directly.
“Noah,” the man said smoothly, “we go way back.”
“We were never friends.”
“But your father and I—”
“You paid my father’s salary with real estate taxes and called it support. He called it silence.”
Langston chuckled. “Still dramatic.”
“What do you want?”
“My son needs counsel.”
“He has it.”
“I want you.”
Noah laughed dryly. “That’s a first.”
“Your name still means something, Noah. Especially with juries. You have a presence. A legacy.”
“I’m not for sale.”
“I didn’t say anything about money.”
“You never have to.”
Langston’s voice dropped. “Look. I don’t know what happened out there. My boy doesn’t talk. Not to me. Not to anyone. But he trusts you. And I need someone I can control.”
Noah blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I said count on. Someone I can count on.”
Noah’s lips curled into a smile. “Right.”
Langston didn’t laugh. “Think about it.”
“I won’t.”
“Then you better pray no one else finds out what your father was investigating before he lost his mind.”
The line went dead.
Noah sat in his motel room again, staring at two files on the table.
Isaiah Reed.
Jordan Langston.
Two names. Two lives. Two stories wrapped in fire and silence.
He rubbed his face, feeling every hour of the last two days press against his ribs.
He hadn’t come back for this.
He’d come to check his father into a home and disappear again.
He wasn’t here to fix Bellview.
But Isaiah’s eyes haunted him.
The boy had looked at him like he was the only person left who might still believe in fairness.
And Jordan?
Jordan looked like someone who didn’t care what people believed.
Two extremes. Two boys.
Same town. Same lie.
That night, Noah visited Isaiah in holding again.
The boy sat up straighter this time. Less broken. More tired.
“You came back,” Isaiah said softly.
“I haven’t decided anything yet.”
Isaiah nodded.
“Tell me something,” Noah said, sitting. “Why won’t you tell them everything?”
Isaiah looked down. “Because they already think they know. And if I say too much, someone else might get hurt.”
“Who?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
Isaiah hesitated. “Both.”
Noah leaned forward. “I can’t help you unless I understand what I’m dealing with.”
The boy stared at him for a long time.
Finally, he said, “You don’t understand this town.”
“Then help me.”
“I don’t want you to get burned.”
Noah almost smiled.
“Too late.”
Later, sitting in his car, Noah pulled out his phone and called someone he hadn’t spoken to in a long time.
A woman answered.
“Still alive?” she said.
“Barely.”
“What do you want, Keene?”
“I’ve got two cases that smell like the beginning of something worse.”
“Fire and blood?”
“Both.”
She sighed. “I’m listening.”
“I might need you to dig into someone for me.”
“Who?”
“Langston.”
There was a pause. “Senior or junior?”
“Start with the father.”
“I’ll call you in two days.”
The next morning, Noah returned to the courthouse.
He signed the papers.
Defense counsel of record for Isaiah Reed.
He hesitated at the second form.
Langston v. State.
He stared at the paper for a long time.
Then he signed it too.
At the front steps of the building, Mason leaned against the railing, watching him with a half-smile.
“Two boys. Same night,” he said. “You don’t waste time.”
“I didn’t come here to get involved,” Noah muttered.
“But you are.”
Noah looked out across the street.
The courthouse. The trees.
Bellview hadn’t changed.
But the rules?
They were shifting under his feet.
And the fire hadn’t burned out.
Not even close.