I dreamed of the belt. It was gold. It was heavy. I wore it to bed. It dug into my hip.

I woke up gasping. The sheet was twisted around my legs. My name is Elias. I am a man who fights for a living. Not with fists. With words. I am a senior partner at Sterling & Vance. We litigate. We destroy. We win.

My sister, Clara, died last Tuesday. She was thirty-four. She had the flu. Then she had the cancer. Then she was gone.

I did not cry. I stood in my kitchen. I held a mug of coffee. It was cold. I drank it anyway. It tasted like ash.

My phone buzzed. A text from the firm. "Client meeting. Nine AM. Do not be late."

I was late. I was always late when I was broken.

The office is a glass box. It sits in Chicago. The wind hits it like a hammer. Inside, it is warm. It is sterile. The air smells of floor wax and fear.

I walked in. My suit was wrinkled. I had slept in it. I felt the phantom weight on my hip. The dream belt. It was not there.

My boss, Mr. Sterling, looked at me. He is a small man. He has a large voice. He wears ties that cost more than my rent.

"Elias," he said.

"Mr. Sterling."

"You look terrible."

"I am fine."

"Your sister?"

"Gone."

He nodded. He did not offer condolences. He offered a file. It was thick. It was bound in blue leather.

"Project Ares," he said. "You know the client. You know the stakes."

I took the file. It was heavy.

"Take the day off," he said. "But come back sharp."

I did not take the day off. I sat at my desk. I opened the file.

The client was a tech giant. They were sued by a former employee. The employee alleged discrimination. The employee was a woman. She was quiet. She was strong. She was like Clara.

I read the deposition. It was dry. It was cold. I needed to break her. I needed to make her lie. I needed to win.

I called her lawyer. The lawyer was young. He was nervous.

"Mr. Whitmore," he said. "My client is available for deposition tomorrow."

"Good," I said. "Prepare her. She will not like it."

"I will do my best."

I hung up. I looked at the photo on my desk. It was Clara and me. We were seven. We were in a field. We were holding a kite. The kite was red. It looked like a wound in the sky.

I put the photo face down.

I went to the deposition room. It was small. It was gray. There were two tables. There were microphones.

The woman sat down. Her name was Sarah. She had kind eyes. She had tired hands.

"State your name for the record," I said.

"Sarah Jenkins," she said.

"Date and time?"

"Today."

I started. I was polite. I was precise. I asked about her job. I asked about her salary. I asked about her performance reviews.

She answered. She did not cry. She did not look at me. She looked at the floor.

"You were terminated," I said.

"Yes."

"Did you feel it was unfair?"

"Yes."

I leaned forward. I used my voice. I used my eyes. I was a weapon. I was the belt.

"Ms. Jenkins. Did you accept bribes?"

The room went silent. The stenographer stopped typing.

"No," she said.

"Did you embezzle funds?"

"No."

"Then why were you fired?"

"Because I refused to lie."

I smiled. I did not know why.

"Ms. Jenkins. Your credibility is in question. You have a history of... instability."

"Instability?" she asked.

"Your mother was in a mental health facility. You have the same genetic predisposition."

Her face changed. It was not anger. It was shock.

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"It is public record."

"It is not public record. That is a lie."

"It is a fact."

I looked at her. I wanted to see her break. I wanted to see her flinch.

She did not. She looked at me. She saw me.

"You don't know me," she said.

"I know the file."

"The file is not the person."

I stood up. I was done. I had won. I had humiliated her. I had won for my client. I had won for the firm.

"I will be back," I said.

She nodded. She did not look afraid. She looked sad.

I walked out. I walked to the elevator. I pressed the button. The doors closed.

I was in the elevator. It was a small box. It went down. I looked at my reflection.

I looked old. I looked tired. I looked like a ghost.

I touched my hip. The belt was not there. But I felt the weight.

I got off on the lobby floor. I walked out into the street. The sun was out. It was bright. It was too bright.

I walked to the park. I sat on a bench. I watched the people. They walked fast. They looked at their phones. They did not look at each other.

I thought about Clara. She loved me. She loved me too much. She stayed with me when I was young. She stayed with me when I was bad. She stayed with me until the end.

She did not fight me. She loved me.

I was fighting Sarah. I was hurting Sarah. I was doing it for money. I was doing it for Mr. Sterling.

I was a coward. I was a liar.

My phone buzzed. It was Mr. Sterling.

"Elias. How did it go?"

"Fine," I said.

"Did you get the admission?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because she did not make one."

Silence.

"Elias. You are a senior partner. You are paid to win. You are not paid to be kind."

"I will try again," I said.

"Good. Send me the transcript."

I hung up. I put the phone in my pocket.

I looked at the sky. It was blue. It was empty.

I remembered the dream. The gold belt. It was heavy. It was warm. It was mine.

I stood up. I walked back to the office. I had to finish the job. I had to win.

I went back to the deposition room. Sarah was still there. She was drinking water. She looked at me.

"Are we continuing?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

I sat down. I opened the file. I looked at the pages. The words were blurry.

"Ms. Jenkins," I said. "I apologize."

She stopped drinking.

"For what?"

"For the questions about your mother."

Her eyes widened.

"Why?"

"Because it was cruel."

She looked at me. She saw the truth. She saw the man behind the mask.

"Thank you," she said.

I closed the file.

"I cannot drop the case," I said.

"I know."

"I have to represent my client."

"I know."

I stood up. I walked to the door.

"Mr. Whitmore," she said.

I stopped. I turned around.

"Be kind," she said. "It is the only thing that matters."

I nodded. I walked out.

I did not go back to my desk. I went to the elevator. I went to the lobby. I went out the door.

I walked to the river. I stood on the bridge. The water was brown. It moved fast. It did not care about me. It did not care about Clara. It did not care about Sarah.

I felt the weight on my hip. It was heavier now. It was crushing me.

I took off my tie. I threw it in the river. It floated. It sank.

I took off my jacket. I threw it in the river. It floated. It sank.

I was bare-chested. The wind was cold. It bit my skin.

I was free. I was broken.

I walked home. I did not go to the office. I did not call Mr. Sterling. I did not care about the client. I did not care about the money.

I went to Clara’s room. It was empty. Her clothes were in the closet. Her books were on the shelf.

I sat on her bed. I picked up a shirt. It was soft. It smelled like her. It smelled like lavender and dust.

I held it to my face. I breathed.

I cried. I cried for the first time in days. I cried for the belt. I cried for the lie. I cried for the love that I had wasted.

The shirt was wet. I held it tight. I held it until my arms ached.

I knew I could not go back. I could not be a partner. I could not be a fighter. I was a man who had lost his way.

I put the shirt in a bag. I packed my things. I left my keys on the table. I left my phone on the table.

I walked out of the apartment. I did not look back.

The city was loud. The city was gray. I walked into it. I was small. I was alone.

I was free.

The weight was gone. The belt was gone. I was light. I was nothing.

I walked until my feet hurt. I walked until the sun went down. I walked until the stars came out.

I did not know where I was going. I did not know who I was.

But I was alive. And that was enough.

I stopped. I looked at the sky. It was black. It was full of stars.

I thought about Clara. She was there. She was everywhere.

I closed my eyes. I breathed.

I was still.