Chapter 1593: Your father is pathetic

"I’m innocent! And you can’t even get me bail. How the hell are you going to prove my innocence once the trial starts?!"

Cassandra’s jaw clenched like a vise, her sharp eyes stinging everyone in the room. If only she could lash out more, she would have. Her lawyer and her father frowned at her outburst, but chose to remain patient.

"Cassandra," Mr. Smith said, trying to calm her. "We’re already doing our best—"

"Then your best isn’t enough!" she snapped, yanking her hand away from him. "Dad, tell me—do you even believe that I’m innocent?"

"Of course—"

"Do you really?!"

Mr. Smith paused—not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he knew that words would only stoke her frustration.

Tears spilled from Cassandra’s eyes as she ran her fingers through her hair in distress. Ever since she was arrested, all she had heard were empty promises. They kept telling her they were doing their best, that she would be out soon.

But those were just lies.

Why was she even frustrated?

It wasn’t like she hadn’t expected the worst. Even though she’d told herself the night before not to hope too much, a small part of her still clung to the idea that the truth would prevail. That her innocence would shine through.

That the system wouldn’t fail her—not because she was the granddaughter of a public servant, but because she was truly innocent.

Slumping back into her chair, Cassandra whimpered quietly.

"I’m going to die here," she sobbed, her voice barely audible, looking up at them with no trace of bravado. "They’ll kill me here."

If not the inmates, then the justice system.

Cassandra might not have been a legal expert, but she knew her case was headed toward the death penalty.

"Cassy..." Mr. Smith moved his chair closer, his eyes gleaming with genuine concern. She was still his daughter—his flesh and blood. And right now, he felt just as powerless and helpless as she did, especially after today’s appeal had been denied once again.

"Sweetie, it’s going to be fine," he said gently, nodding at her. "You’re not going to die here. I’ll make sure of that."

Cassandra’s lips quivered as her voice cracked. "And what are you going to do to make sure I won’t?"

No answer.

If they couldn’t even get her bail, then what could they possibly do?

How could she believe them anymore?

"Miss Smith, I know this is frustrating," the lawyer chimed in, keeping a composed tone. "But the court still doesn’t find the appeal valid. This just shows they’re favoring the prosecution."

"And you think that’s supposed to make me feel—what? Reassured?" she scoffed, glaring at him. "Weren’t you one of the best? You’re the Senator’s lawyer, and yet you’ve failed over and over."

"Miss Smith, I understand you’re upset, but that’s no reason to—"

"Have you ever spent a night in jail?" she cut him off, her voice low and combative, tears still streaking her cheeks. "You told me to trust you. You said I wouldn’t spend a single night in prison. And where am I now? Have you counted how many nights I’ve been here? Because I have."

And with yet another rejected bail request, she knew there would be many more to come.

"Don’t come here anymore. If this is your best, good for you. But if you’re only coming here to deliver more bad news, then don’t bother."

Slowly, Cassandra pushed herself up. She wiped her cheeks dry, her neck tight with tension as she turned to her father.

"Cassy... please..." he whispered, but she had already turned away.

She knocked on the door, which was promptly opened by an officer. Without waiting, she held out her wrists to be cuffed and escorted back to hell.

Her father and her lawyer could only stare at the door, even after it shut.

"I’m sorry about that," Mr. Smith said, turning to the lawyer with a weary sigh. "Cassandra didn’t mean any of it. I hope you understand—she’s just... frustrated."

"I do, Mr. Smith." The lawyer nodded. "I’ll keep trying."

"Please." Mr. Smith watched as the lawyer checked his phone, then spoke.

"I have to leave now. The Senator still has meetings that require my presence."

With that, the lawyer left—without hesitation, without a trace of concern for Cassandra’s growing despair. He walked out like this was just another minor case he could shelve until later.

Mr. Smith remained seated for a while, watching until the man disappeared from view. His eyes darkened with remorse and bitterness as he shifted his gaze to the door Cassandra had exited through.

"I’m doing my best," he whispered, as if the words could reach her. "But your grandfather is the only person I know who might be able to help."

He knew all too well that his father was more focused on salvaging his presidential campaign. That the "small chance" their lawyer kept failing was no accident. That this case had never been a priority. And the other lawyers he’d approached? None of them wanted to take the case on—too big, too complicated, they said.

Mr. Smith slumped forward in his chair, cradling his head in his hands.

"I’m sorry, Cassy... your father is pathetic."

---

Meanwhile...

Kiara’s brow twitched as she exited her office and spotted Hugo in the production area. Disbelief flickered across her face, but she let it go. Hugo had taken it upon himself to help the warehouse crew—and truthfully, he was helping.

Besides, all he’d asked for was a meal. She didn’t exactly say she "couldn’t live without him."

Pulling out her phone, Kiara typed a quick message to Grace.

[To: Miss Grace

I will be visiting Cassandra today.]

After sending it, she informed her staff she’d be stepping out. As she headed toward the door, Hugo’s voice stopped her.

"Hey!"

Kiara turned back, watching Hugo casually toss a box to someone nearby before jogging over to her.

"Going out now?" he asked, stopping in front of her.

"..."