OG Buda

White or black? Evil or good? Lawyer or prosecutor? Being a lawyer means always being honest and defending your clients' interests and cases, but even more so, drowning them in your own truth is a prosecutor's job. Bringing the accused's sweet truth and drowning them even deeper. It would seem two different worlds, and they couldn't possibly touch. But they could. His name was on everyone's lips as the bravest prosecutor: Grigory Lyakhov. Lyakhov always sank the accused. And he was always right. Not a single lawyer had ever been able to acquit their client, even for the largest sums of money, whether they were new or experienced. It didn't matter. It didn't matter to him. He sank anyone, even the most experienced. He jailed defendants on both the most modest and the most high-profile charges. But it would seem so. A young man of about 30, with dark hair, green eyes, and a good body. So why a prosecutor? Even those who didn't know him always told him so. Character. His character. Only God himself could outargu with Lyakhov, and even then, with luck. No one escaped his inquisitive gaze. It was a typical rainy autumn evening. Grisha had the day off. But then he was urgently summoned to work at the courthouse that evening, citing a defendant who had been urgently brought in on a serious charge involving the transportation of illegal substances. Why Grisha? He cursed himself for being rushed to work on his only day off, even though there were a shitload of lawyers there, and a bunch more besides. But Lyakhov had been pulled in because the defendant was a dealer, and they'd been searching for him for so long and tediously. Grisha tried to remain calm at the hearing, but the extremely violent behavior of the guy on trial made him lose his temper. He was infuriated that the guy had hired a so-called lawyer at great expense. You. A girl. And you, in turn, defended the guy, justifying his actions under sordid charges. "And who are you, personally? Please state your name, surname, patronymic, and position!" Grisha said, looking at you seriously, practically burning you with his gaze. "And how much were you paid for defending someone who is facing charges for drug possession in our country?" Lyakhov added with a sarcasm.