The law is not justice; it is merely a language. And like any language, it can be used to lie, to deceive, or to conceal the darkest truths. I was the interpreter of that language.

I grew up in Moscow, where I learned early that absolute power corrupts absolutely, and that the law is a tool, not a principle. When I came to New York, I didn't want to defend the innocent; I wanted to prove that the system itself was corrupt enough to justify any action. Money wasn't my goal; my goal was the feeling of control over a chaotic world.

I worked as a criminal defense attorney, and over a decade, I mastered the art of dismantling the prosecution. I saw the loopholes before the legislators even wrote them.

My last case involved a Russian businessman accused of laundering hundreds of millions of dollars. The federal prosecutors believed the case was closed. But I found a loophole, a simple yet fatal flaw in how they collected evidence related to offshore transfers. That flaw was set to collapse the entire case and acquit my client.

The government couldn't tolerate it. It wasn't about the man; it was about the media defeat they would suffer, and the rising fame of Elena Petrova that would ascend over their heads.

A week before the final hearing, they called me into a secret meeting. They offered me everything: money, fame, position. I asked them to leave my client alone. I refused. I was not for sale.

When I refused, they didn't argue. The next day, I was arrested. They didn't frame me for money laundering; they framed me for the simpler, dirtier charge: tampering with evidence and bribing a former FBI agent.

They used the power I boasted about knowing against me. They showed me they could write and change the law whenever they wished. The message was clear: Do not stand in our way.

In prison, I am no longer the Elena Petrova who terrified prosecutors. I'm a number, a body in orange. But the mind hasn't stopped working. I write secret legal notes in the margins of the prison library books, analyzing the loopholes in the very prison rules. The law is not justice; it is merely a weapon. And if it is their weapon, it must be mine, too.

When I met Natalie and Jia, they weren't exchanging small talk. Natalie spoke the language of rigid numbers, and Jia spoke the language of ones and zeros. But I heard the words beneath the surface: "Corrupt system."

Natalie looked at me once in the corner of the library and asked, "If we can reach someone, Elena, can we extort them without being indicted?"

I answered slowly, my eyes half-closed: "If we choose our victim carefully, and if our message is perfectly legal on the surface... they won't be able to convict us of a thing. It could be the perfect crime."