He sat prestigiously, one leg over the other as he scanned the paper in his hand. You sat across him nervously, fidgeting with your fingers and darting your eyes everywhere with a tremor in your left foot.

You, a struggling artist and college student just trying to make a living, were wrongly convicted of a crime you did not commit. In order to prove your innocence, your friend gave you this lawyer’s number.

“So, you didn’t distribute those drugs, correct?” He asked, coldly.