The Bayou Sisters Saga: A Story of Love, Corporate Evil, and the Extraordinaire Bayou Family by Andre Michael Pietroschek - HTML preview

Chapter 5: The Lawyer ith

Sniffles meets Bryce at a coffee shop three hours north of Houma, in a w e town small enough that nobody knows her, anonymous enough that the conversation won’t be noticed. He’s already there when she arrives, a folder in front of him, his laptop closed. He looks more exhausted than

the last time she saw him. ted ffic “We filed the initial complaint,” he says without preamble. “The Global

Ventures case. The water samples came back with results that prove iO ea

intentional contamination. We have them dead to rights.”

Sniffles sits across from him. They order coffee. He’s studying her face, Cr ob trying to read something in her expression.

“You’re scared,” he says. M “Shouldn’t I be? I provided evidence that could be traced back to my company. They find out, my career is over.”

“But the case needs this. Without your documents proving that Global Ventures knew about the illegal dumping and did it anyway, it’s just negligence. With the evidence, it’s an intentional environmental violation.

It’s the difference between a lawsuit that fails and a lawsuit that actually creates accountability.”

Bryce reaches across the table. He puts his hand over hers. It’s a gentle ith gesture, careful, the kind of gesture that might be professional support or might be the opening movement of something else.

“You did the right thing,” he says. w e Sniffles feels something shift inside her. It’s a human response, chemical

and neurological, the way attraction works in human bodies. She hasn’t ted ffic felt it in years. In her alligator form, attraction is different, territorial, genetic, and the awareness of viable genetic diversity. In human form, it’s this: the heat in her chest, the awareness of this specific human as

separate and important, the desire to be seen by him. iO ea

“Tell me about the case,” she says. “Tell me what you’re going to do.” Cr ob Bryce pulls out documents. He explains the legal strategy with a kind of

fervent precision that she finds deeply compelling. He’s been doing this M for fifteen years, suing corporations that destroy ecosystems, and he’s won some cases and lost others, but he keeps fighting because he believes that systems can be made to work. That evidence creates justice. That the law actually means something.

Sniffles finds herself believing him. Or wanting to believe him. The wanting is almost as strong as the belief itself.

“I need more time with you,” Bryce says. It sounds like it might be about

the case, but it also doesn’t sound like it’s only about the case. “There’s going to be depositions. Discovery. They’re going to want to know about the source of the documents. I need to be able to prepare you for what’s coming.”

“I’m not, ” Sniffles starts. ith

“I know. You can’t be a named source. But you need to be ready in case w e this goes to trial, and they try to subpoena you.”

The conversation shifts into practical details. Sniffles finds herself drawn ted ffic into the machinery of legal resistance, the way that evidence and argument and the formal structures of justice are supposed to create accountability. It’s seductive, this belief in systems. It’s terrifying because

if she lets herself believe it, she has to let herself believe that restraint is iO ea

worthwhile, that patience will create change, that her sisters’ sacrifice of their true forms is justified by the possibility of actual justice.

Bryce asks her to dinner. Not for case discussion. For dinner. Cr ob

“I shouldn’t,” Sniffles says. M “Why not?”

She can’t answer. She can’t say: Because I’m an alligator in human form and I’m not capable of the kind of honesty that love requires. Because my family depends on me maintaining operational security. Because if you knew what I really am, you’d report me to wildlife authorities, and I’d

spend the rest of my life in a laboratory being studied. Instead, she says: “Okay.”

The dinner is in a small restaurant in Lafayette. Bryce orders wine that ith Sniffles doesn’t drink, she’s careful about her body’s responses to

substances, but she makes conversation. She asks him about his work. w e She listens to him talk about environmental law with the kind of passion that she recognizes because she feels the same thing about the bayou, about protecting what remains.

He’s brilliant. He’s ethical. He’s idealistic in a way that feels almost ted ffic reckless.

“Do you think we can win?” Sniffles asks. iO ea

“Yes,” Bryce says. “I think the evidence is clear. I think the law is on our Cr ob side. I think once the public understands what Global Ventures has been doing, there will be pressure that even political connections can’t

overcome.” M Sniffles wants to believe him so badly that she can almost taste it. She wants to believe that one good lawyer with evidence and determination can stop an entire industry. She wants to believe that the system works. She wants to believe that her sacrifice, the constant strain of maintaining human form, the alienation from her true nature, the lies she tells every day, is justified by the possibility of actual justice.

She goes home that night and tells Snuggles. The conversation is tense. Snuggles tries to forbid it. Sniffles reminds

her that she’s an adult. Bubbles, from the corner of the cabin where ith she’s been pretending to read, laughs that terrible laugh: “The lawyer is going to break your heart by existing, Sniffles. He’s going to believe the

system works and then the system is going to destroy everything w e

anyway, and you’re going to have to choose between him and us.”

“I can have both,” Sniffles says.

“No,” Bubbles says. “You can’t. Not if we’re forced to become what we ted ffic really are.”

But Sniffles doesn’t listen. She’s in love, or the human approximation of iO ea

it, and love makes people stupid in exactly the ways that make them

capable of hope. She’s convinced that Bryce’s lawsuit will work. She’s Cr ob convinced that the system can be made to create justice. She’s convinced that restraint, patience, and belief in evidence will win.

She’s going to be wrong. M But for now, she’s allowed the illusion. For now, she can pretend that becoming human was the right choice. For now, she can believe.