Souvenir - Chapter 3.1

The past few days had been bitterly cold, but today was relatively mild—warmer than usual, though the nights remained chilly. This time of year, New York City was alive with the Easter celebrations, marking the resurrection of Christ.

Walking through the city after work or having lunch with a client, I could feel the energy of the festivities. Easter had always been a time when the city and its people seemed more vibrant.

As I drove through the streets, I stopped at a red light. Beyond the intersection, a small café window was decorated with Easter ornaments.

I remembered how my mother used to love dyeing Easter eggs. As a child, I would sit beside her, dipping eggs into colorful dyes, awkwardly painting patterns. It was one of the few joyful memories I had of her.

But even that memory had now faded, blurred by time.

The light turned green. I stepped on the accelerator.

—

“Do you have any plans for Easter, sir?”

My secretary had casually asked me the other day.

“No, nothing.”

“You say that every year.”

She had chuckled, but there was a hint of exasperation in her tone.

—

That morning, I had received a client request that required me to visit an apartment.

Originally, Alex was supposed to accompany me, but his schedule was packed, so he would be arriving later. I was to go ahead alone.

The destination was a neighborhood far from New York City, deep into the outskirts.

This area was not one where I usually took cases.

A so-called slum—a place where prostitutes and undocumented immigrants lived in large numbers, notorious for its crime and danger.

If a tourist or an unfamiliar outsider mistakenly wandered two blocks past the bustling shopping district into these streets, they would be warned to turn back immediately.

Garbage littered the roads, an indescribable stench filled the air, and the sight of it alone was enough to make one grimace.

Despite the clear blue sky and pleasant temperature, the surroundings made my mood sink instantly.

I had informed my secretary in advance of my visit here, so if anything happened to me, there would be measures in place.

I kept myself in shape, regularly working out at the sports club once a week, so I wasn’t completely defenseless.

But if a towering gang member with a menacing presence decided to pick a fight, there was no way I could win.

Knowing I was heading to a place like this, I had dressed accordingly—an old, worn-out suit and shoes I didn’t care about.

The roads were muddy, and my pant cuffs were already stained with dirt.

“Might as well toss these and buy a new pair instead of sending them to the cleaners,” I thought idly.

Even my watch was different today—instead of my usual luxury timepiece, I wore a cheap one from my student days, something I wouldn’t mind losing if it got stolen.

Despite my casual attire, I still looked too proper—the reflection in a dusty car window confirmed that.

The slightly oversized, outdated suit made me look like a worn-out salesman rather than someone blending into this area.

—

As part of my pro bono work, I sometimes volunteered in neighborhoods like this.

However, people here rarely sought lawyers like us—they didn’t trust or want our help.

At the same time, we carefully screened our clients, ensuring they met certain criteria.

Taking on cases that didn’t bring in money could hurt our firm, so we typically avoided them.

Even when we did accept such cases, we would quickly refer them to other firms rather than handle them ourselves.