Chapter Five

Jason sat in his chambers, staring at the stacks of legal briefs and case law spread out before him. National Rifle Association of America v. Vullo was set to be one of the most contentious cases of the term, and he had spent weeks preparing for it. The case challenged whether a state official’s efforts to pressure financial institutions into cutting ties with the NRA constituted a violation of the First and Second Amendments. It was a legal minefield, intertwining free speech, corporate pressure, and the ever-explosive issue of gun rights.

Jason knew he was outnumbered. The conservative majority on the Court had spent decades expanding the scope of the Second Amendment, dismantling gun control measures one ruling at a time. But this case was different—this wasn’t about the right to own a firearm. It was about the government using its power to financially strangle an advocacy organization it didn’t like. That was a bridge too far, even for him.

He rubbed his temples as he read through his clerk’s notes. Grace, who had quickly grown used to his unorthodox approach, had written solid arguments supporting his position. But Jason needed more than solid. He needed something airtight. Something persuasive enough to get at least one of his conservative colleagues to consider his side.

The problem? They didn’t have to listen. And they knew it.

During oral arguments, the ideological battle lines were drawn before the first lawyer had even finished their opening statement. The NRA’s attorney, a slick-talking advocate named Lucas Howell, was barely a minute into his argument when Justice Robert Hayward, the Court’s most aggressive conservative, leaned forward.

“Well, let’s not waste time here,” Hayward grumbled. “This is a blatant violation of the First Amendment. The government shouldn’t be bullying private companies to sever ties with an organization it doesn’t like.”

Howell smiled. “Exactly, Your Honor.”

Jason clenched his jaw. Blatant violation? Hayward had never met a government restriction he didn’t like—unless it benefited liberals. But when the NRA was involved, suddenly, he was a free speech absolutist.

On the other side, the New York Solicitor General, Carolyn Mills, faced a far more hostile bench. Justice Selma Thatcher, always direct, didn’t even let Mills finish her first sentence before cutting in.

“Counselor, are you telling me that the government can’t lean on businesses to cut ties with organizations it deems harmful?” Thatcher asked. “That would be a lot of decisions to reconsider.”

Mills kept her composure. “Your Honor, what happened here was an attempt by a state official to pressure banks and insurers into severing their relationships with the NRA—not through legislation, but through backchannel intimidation. That’s not regulation. That’s coercion.”

Justice William Prescott, ever the smooth political tactician, leaned in. “Ah, but isn’t the state allowed to take a position? You’re suggesting that merely expressing disapproval is unconstitutional. That’s a stretch.”

Jason watched as his colleagues nodded along, their minds already made up. It didn’t matter that the government had clearly abused its power here. To them, the case wasn’t about constitutional overreach—it was about protecting their ideological allies.

He couldn’t let that stand.

When it was his turn to speak, Jason adjusted his glasses and addressed the New York solicitor. “Ms. Mills, let’s be clear about something: No one is arguing that government officials can’t express their opinions. The question is whether those opinions were leveraged in a way that suppressed lawful advocacy. Would you say there’s a distinction between a government official stating disapproval of an organization and using their position to strong-arm financial institutions into cutting ties?”

Mills nodded. “Absolutely, Your Honor.”

Jason turned his gaze toward Prescott and Thatcher. “Then let’s flip the script. Imagine, for a moment, that a liberal state official attempted to pressure businesses into cutting ties with a conservative religious organization because they opposed same-sex marriage. Would we be having this debate?”

The courtroom went still.

Prescott’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s a hypothetical.”

“It’s a parallel,” Jason countered. “If we permit this kind of state interference now, we are creating a standard that could be used against any advocacy group, on either side of the political spectrum. The First Amendment doesn’t belong to just one party.”

Justice Nancy Novak, the sharp but often unpredictable conservative, tilted her head. “You’re arguing for a broad principle, but shouldn’t we consider the specific history of this case? The NRA is uniquely tied to the gun rights debate, and gun violence is a public safety issue.”

Jason gave a tight smile. “Are we ruling on public safety today, or the Constitution?”

Novak fell silent.

Jason pressed on, looking directly at the Chief Justice. “The conservative majority of this Court has repeatedly ruled in favor of expansive First and Second Amendment protections. You cannot in good faith argue that those principles apply only when they benefit your ideological allies. Either the government has the power to do this to everyone, or it has the power to do it to no one.”

He could feel the irritation in the room. He was challenging the very foundation of their legal reasoning. He was forcing them to acknowledge their hypocrisy.

And they didn’t like it.

After arguments concluded, Jason returned to his chambers, rubbing his temples. Grace sat across from him, flipping through her notes.

“That was…” she hesitated. “That was brutal.”

Jason sighed. “They’ve already decided.”

“You knew they wouldn’t budge,” she said carefully.

“I had to try.”

She studied him for a moment. “Would you have ruled in favor of the NRA?”

Jason exhaled. “I would have ruled against the government’s abuse of power. Even if it benefited people I don’t agree with.”

Grace nodded slowly. “And they wouldn’t do the same for you.”

“No,” Jason said. “They wouldn’t.”

A week later, the Court ruled in favor of the NRA in a 7-2 decision. Jason and Justice Novak were the only dissenters.

His dissent was pointed but restrained:

“The Constitution applies equally, regardless of whose rights are at stake. Today, my colleagues defend the speech rights of an organization they favor. Tomorrow, they may be asked to defend one they do not. When that day comes, I fear their principles will not endure.”

It wasn’t the outcome he wanted. But he had done what he set out to do—expose the hypocrisy. And he knew that, sooner or later, the country would see it too.

###

Grace had always prided herself on her clear-cut view of right and wrong. A world of rules and order made sense to her; laws existed for a reason, and justice was its own reward. But as she watched Jason preside over cases in the Supreme Court, that certainty began to shift, the foundation of her beliefs cracking in ways she wasn’t sure how to repair.

She first noticed it in the way he deliberated. There was no hesitation in his reasoning, no second-guessing. While she had been trained to see justice as something enforced through criminal investigations, Jason viewed it as something shaped by legal interpretation and precedent. He wasn’t reckless; he was methodical, ensuring that every ruling he contributed to was legally sound and ethically just.

“Grace, the system isn’t perfect,” Jason said one evening as they discussed a case involving wrongful conviction. “But that doesn’t mean we abandon it. It means we work harder to apply it fairly.”

She nodded slowly. “So, what? We just trust that the law will always work if we follow the rules?”

Jason turned to look at her fully, his gaze steady. “No. We make sure it works by making the right decisions. We weigh the evidence, the arguments, the precedents. We don’t rule based on personal beliefs, because if we do, we become part of the problem.”

She wanted to argue, but something about the way he said it made her hesitate. Grace had spent years believing in the law, enforcing it in lower courts, and now seeing it debated at the highest level. And while she had sometimes seen the system fail, she knew that justice wasn’t about bending the law—it was about interpreting it in a way that ensured fairness for all.

Her beliefs were tested on the next case. A man, Harold Kinney, had been convicted of running a drug operation out of his luxury hotel. New evidence suggested that his trial had been flawed, with prosecutorial misconduct and unreliable testimony. The question before the Court was whether to overturn his conviction and grant a retrial.

Grace had wanted to believe in the finality of the legal system, that a conviction meant guilt beyond doubt. But Jason, however, had a different perspective—one grounded in fairness. He examined the records meticulously, ensuring that every argument presented was legally sound and that the accused’s rights had been upheld.

“Kinney’s conviction came from a flawed process,” Jason said as he reviewed the case’s history. “If we let an unfair trial stand, we undermine everything we stand for. Justice isn’t about outcomes—it’s about fairness.”

Grace frowned, flipping through the case files. “But what if he is guilty?”

Jason leaned back in his chair, watching her. “Then he’ll be found guilty again in a fair trial. But we can’t pick and choose when due process matters. It either always does, or it never does.”

She studied the arguments, her initial skepticism giving way to reluctant understanding. The Court wasn’t there to decide guilt or innocence—it was there to ensure that justice had been served in the process. Jason had found a way to work within the law and still ensure fairness prevailed.

She had to admit—it was the right way to do it.

When the Court ruled in favor of a retrial, she watched the reactions unfold. This time, there was no uneasy feeling, no doubt. The right thing had been done in the right way.

That night, she sat alone in her apartment, turning Jason’s words over in her mind.

She had always believed in the power of the law. Now, she understood that true justice didn’t come from merely trusting the system—it came from ensuring it worked fairly, without compromise.