Fish Out of Water

Edward Park never liked elevators. They made him feel trapped — no sky, no wind, no sound but the sterile hum of machinery and the breathing of strangers. The doors of the Martin & Moss tower slid open with a soft hydraulic sigh, and he stepped into a world of glass, chrome, and tailored suits.

He straightened his tie, the one his mother had bought him when he’d won his first case back in Willow Creek. The tie was navy with tiny silver scales, like fish skin in sunlight. It had felt lucky then. Today, it felt like a relic.

A receptionist smiled from behind a marble desk. “Edward Park? Welcome to Martin & Moss.”

He nodded, his mouth dry. “Thanks.”

She gestured toward the elevators again. “Thirty-fifth floor, Ms. Moss is expecting you.”

The irony wasn’t lost on him — back into the box. He took a breath and rode up, the numbers blinking by like countdowns.

I. The Tree Case

Three months earlier, Edward’s life had been defined by oaks and river willows, not skyscrapers. He worked at Lacey, Bell & Hwang, a two-story practice above the old post office in Willow Creek, population six thousand.

His father, retired Judge Stephen Park, had recommended him to the firm. “Start small,” his father had said. “Learn the soil before you climb the tree.”

Ironically, it had been a tree that changed everything.

Mrs. Constance Miller, a widow in her seventies, came to the firm sobbing about her neighbor cutting down her fifty-year-old maple tree. “He said it shaded his pool too much,” she’d said between tears. “But that tree was older than his marriage!”

Edward had taken the case, half out of pity, half curiosity. What followed was three weeks of research into property boundaries, arborist testimony, and a crash course in tree law — a niche most lawyers laughed at.

But Edward didn’t laugh. His psychology minor had taught him that most disputes weren’t about the thing itself — they were about loss. Mrs. Miller didn’t just lose a tree. She’d lost a memory, a piece of her late husband’s handiwork.

When he stood before the county judge, he wove that truth into his closing argument. “A tree is not just lumber,” he’d said, his voice trembling. “It’s a living landmark of someone’s life.”

The judge ruled in Mrs. Miller’s favor. Damages: $15,000 and replanting of a mature maple.

The local paper ran the headline: “Young Lawyer Wins Case by Branching Out.” He cringed at the pun, but it caught attention.

One pair of eyes, in particular, noticed.

II. The Offer

After the hearing, a tall woman in a charcoal suit had approached him in the courthouse corridor. She carried herself like she belonged everywhere.

“I’m Veronica Moss,” she said, handing him a card. Martin & Moss LLP – Manhattan, NY.

Edward blinked. “As in… the Martin & Moss?”

“The very one.” She smiled faintly. “I was watching your argument. I liked your angle — the emotional appeal, the framing of personal significance. You’ve got something most litigators don’t.”

“Which is?”

“Heart,” she said simply. “And a working knowledge of human psychology. I read you minored in it.”

He didn’t remember putting that in his résumé.

“We could use someone like you,” she continued. “Come to New York. Cut your teeth on something bigger than tree roots.”

He’d laughed nervously. “I’m… not really a big city person.”

“Neither are most people when they start,” she’d said, her tone measured, persuasive. “But that’s how growth works. You have to let the old branches break.”

III. Manhattan

Three weeks later, he was standing in the Martin & Moss tower, a fish out of water — or perhaps a tree uprooted.

His office had a view of the Hudson, and a desk so sleek it looked allergic to paperwork. He spent his first few days reading case files and trying not to look lost.

The firm’s lawyers were sharks, sharp and relentless. They talked in shorthand, thought in billable hours, and treated vulnerability like weakness.

His first assignment was with senior partner Veronica Moss herself: a corporate litigation case between Dovetail Biotech and Renova Life Sciences.

It wasn’t about trees. It was about patents — DNA sequencing technology, intellectual property rights, and millions of dollars.

His job was to help prepare witnesses for depositions. Specifically, a whistleblower named Ava Lin, a former Dovetail researcher who claimed her discovery had been stolen.

“She’s emotional,” Veronica had warned. “Be gentle, but get what we need.”

That phrasing — be gentle, but get what we need — became the mantra of his moral tug-of-war.

IV. The Whistleblower

Ava Lin was younger than he expected — early thirties, sharp eyes, unsteady hands. She reminded him of his sister, who’d left for grad school in Oregon and called home only on holidays.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she’d said during their first prep session. “They’ll bury me.”

“You’re under protection,” Edward said softly. “And you’re not alone.”

She laughed bitterly. “You don’t believe that. You’re with them.”

He wanted to protest, but she wasn’t wrong. He worked for Martin & Moss. He was with them.

Still, his psychology background urged him to listen. To understand before arguing. So he did.

Over the next week, he met with her five times, helping her shape her story into coherent testimony. Somewhere along the way, he began to suspect she was telling the truth — not just technically, but humanly.

Dovetail had stolen her research. He could see it in her eyes, the way trauma buried itself behind a calm voice.

He brought it up to Veronica once, cautiously.

“She’s credible,” he said. “Her data checks out.”

Veronica looked at him with quiet amusement. “You sound like a social worker. Our job isn’t to believe. It’s to win.”

That night, Edward sat in his apartment staring out at the city lights, wondering if maybe those two things didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.

V. The Deposition

The day of the deposition, Dovetail’s lawyers came in looking like they’d stepped off a movie poster. One of them — slick hair, no warmth in his eyes — smirked when Ava took the stand.

Veronica led the questioning. Edward sat beside her, taking notes, ready to interject.

At first, Ava held strong. But when the opposing counsel started cross-examining, they went after her character — personal relationships, mental health records, her firing.

She faltered. Edward could see her withdrawing, losing confidence. His instincts screamed to step in.

“Objection — relevance,” he said before he could stop himself.

The room froze. Veronica shot him a look that could curdle blood, but the judge sustained it. The questioning shifted. Ava regained her footing.

Afterward, she whispered to him, “Thank you.”

He nodded, unsure what to say.

Veronica waited until the hallway cleared before turning to him. “You don’t make unilateral objections in my deposition room.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “It was out of line.”

She studied him for a moment. “You’ve got good instincts, Park. But instincts don’t bill hours.”

VI. Cracks in the Glass

Weeks passed. He worked late, ate at his desk, and watched as the city devoured time like a hungry animal.

The more he learned about the case, the more he realized it wasn’t just about intellectual property. It was about manipulation, cover-ups, and NDAs used as weapons.

He couldn’t shake the thought that they were defending the wrong side.

Veronica, meanwhile, seemed to thrive in the chaos. She handled negotiations like chess, every word a move, every silence a trap.

“You’re thinking too much again,” she said once during a late-night prep session.

“Isn’t that part of the job?”

“Not here. Here, we react. Thinking comes later.”

VII. The Father’s Call

His father called one Sunday.

“You sound tired,” the old judge said.

“I’m… adjusting,” Edward replied.

“City life’ll do that. Tell me about your work.”

Edward hesitated. “It’s… complicated.”

His father chuckled. “The law always is. But you sound like you’ve lost something.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just realizing how different people are up here.”

“People are people, son. The question is, do you still recognize yourself when you look in the mirror?”

Edward didn’t answer.

VIII. The Leak

A week later, someone leaked internal memos from Dovetail to the press — documents that validated Ava’s claims. It wasn’t enough for a verdict, but it turned the tide.

John James Martin stormed into Edward’s office, slamming the door.

“Did you have anything to do with this?”

“What? No!”

His eyes searched his face for a lie. “Because whoever did just cost us millions in client trust.”

“I didn’t leak anything.”

“Good,” he said, his tone icy. “Because Veronica Moss vouched for you. Don’t make me regret my decision to hear her out.”

He left. But the doubt lingered.

IX. The Choice

The next morning, Ava called him in tears. “They’re threatening me again. Dovetail’s lawyers said they’ll sue for defamation.”

“You’re protected,” he reassured her.

“They said my protection won’t last once this case settles. They’ll come after me privately.”

Edward knew she was right. Settlements came with gag orders. Silence disguised as peace.

That night, he sat in the office long after everyone had gone. The city outside glimmered like scales under moonlight.

He opened his laptop and looked at the files — confidential evidence from discovery. Enough to expose the cover-up completely. Enough to ruin Dovetail — and Martin & Moss with it.

He knew what his father would say: The law is a tool, not a sword. Use it wisely.

He also knew what his conscience whispered: Right is right, even when it’s not profitable.

He closed the laptop without sending anything.

But the cursor hovered over “upload” longer than it should have.

X. The Aftermath

The next day, the story broke anyway.

Whistleblower documents appeared on a public forum, uploaded anonymously. The files matched those Edward had seen.

He was summoned immediately. Veronica stood with the senior partners, her expression unreadable.

“You leaked the documents,” one of them said flatly.

“I didn’t,” Edward replied.

“Then who did?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

They stared at him in silence. He could feel their verdict forming before any words were spoken.

“Take a few weeks off,” Veronica said finally. “We’ll review your access logs. If you’re clear, we’ll talk.”

He left the office to the sound of whispers behind glass doors.

XI. Water and Stone

He spent his suspension walking along the Hudson, watching the river churn past the docks.

In Willow Creek, the river had been calm — predictable, bordered by willows and picnic tables. Here, it was restless, metallic, always moving.

He thought of the phrase his father used to describe his youth: “You’re like a fish that doesn’t know it’s in water.”

Now he felt the opposite. He knew all too well. The current here was too strong, the water too cold.

Still, there was something cleansing in its honesty.

XII. The Meeting

Two weeks later, Veronica called. “We’ve cleared you,” she said curtly. “Logs show your account wasn’t used. But the firm’s taking heat. Dovetail’s pulling out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. They were snakes. But Martin is furious. He wants a scapegoat, and I can’t protect you forever.”

Edward hesitated. “Then maybe I shouldn’t stay.”

She was silent for a long time. “You’re good, Park. Better than you think. But this world…” She sighed. “This world eats men like you.”

“I know.”

He heard something like regret in her voice. “If you go back to Willow Creek, remember — you made waves here. Not everyone does.”

XIII. The Return

He returned to Willow Creek a month later. Lacey, Bell & Hwang welcomed him with cautious smiles and polite curiosity.

His father met him at the diner. “So,” the old judge said, sipping his coffee, “how was New York?”

Edward thought for a long moment. “Beautiful. Terrifying. Necessary.”

His father chuckled. “And did you learn to swim?”

Edward smiled faintly. “Not yet. But I learned when to come up for air.”

XIV. The Letter

A week later, he received a letter from Veronica Moss.

Edward,

I resigned from Martin & Moss. I’m starting a smaller firm — ethical litigation, whistleblower advocacy. If you ever decide you’re ready to swim again, there’s a place for you.

— V.M.

He folded the letter and tucked it into his briefcase.

That afternoon, Mrs. Constance Miller stopped by again — this time about her neighbor’s fence encroaching on her hydrangeas.

He smiled. “Let’s take a look.”

XV. The Ending (for Now)

Late that evening, Edward walked along the quiet streets of Willow Creek, the smell of pine and distant rain filling the air.

He paused by the park pond, where kids used to fish with strings and paper clips. He watched the water ripple under the twilight.

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever return to New York, or if he even belonged there. But part of him missed the challenge — the current, the pull, the strange sense of purpose.

He knelt and touched the surface of the pond. It was cool, calm, reflective.

“Like a fish out of water,” he murmured to himself, smiling. “Maybe that’s the point. You only grow when you’re gasping.”

He stood, brushed off his pants, and walked home — the streetlights flickering on one by one, like small, patient stars waiting for him to find his way.