Perjury

Sera

I’d never been to a place like this before.

The light was honey-warm and dripping down the walls. Everything smelled of cigars and old money. Menus without prices. No loud music. Just low murmurs and the soft clink of glasses that probably cost more than my entire rent. He didn't tell me the name of the place, sending only an address and a time.

I’d Googled it five minutes before arriving and nearly turned around when I saw the reviews, words like exclusive and reservation-only and political elite.

I didn’t turn around. Curiosity, or maybe desperation, kept me walking. I needed to know why a man who hadn’t even glanced at my résumé, who had rejected my application without a word, now wanted to see me in person.

I told myself I wasn’t nervous, even when the hostess looked me up and down like I didn’t belong. I told myself my heels didn’t hurt, that I’d worn this dress because I liked it, not because it was the only one I owned that could pass as expensive under dim lighting. I told myself that whatever this was, I could handle it.

“Miss Casteele,” he said with a smile, rising from the corner booth as I approached. “I wasn’t sure you’d show.”

“I wasn’t sure either,” I replied, matching his smile.

Lie number one. I was sure the second I read his message.

He gestured for me to sit. I slid into the booth across from him, the leather cool against my spine. He didn’t reach for the menu. Neither did I. His posture was relaxed, but I could feel the impatience reeking from him. He was waiting, for what, I wasn’t sure.

I kept my hands still in my lap and let the silence stand. I wouldn’t be the one to break it. We just sat there, the silence stretching as deliberately as the space between us.

“You’re interning with Carson & Finch this semester, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “I started two weeks ago.”

He studied me with the ease of a man who had time to waste. Boht hands clasped perfectly on the table in front of him. His cufflinks caught the light, gold and engraved with a family crest I didn’t recognize.

“You hide it well” he said. “Where you come from, I mean.”

I didn’t ask how he knew where I came from. It didn’t matter. People like him always knew. The question wasn’t whether he’d found the dirt. It was how deep he’d gone and what he planned to do with it.

“I like it,” he added. “It gives me a reason to cut through the bullshit.”

I tilted my head. “Is that why you brought me here? For my edge?”

He smiled, and it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You said in your application that you were pre-law at Halston on a merit scholarship,” he continued. “But I made a few calls. You’re not on any scholarship. In fact, you barely got in. Your transcript was... well, let’s just say it wasn’t flattering. Not until your final year.”

My stomach curled, but I said nothing. He waited, he wanted me to squirm.

“Why lie?” he asked, that look still lingering on his face.

I’d been asked that question before, sometimes with curiosity, sometimes with cruelty. The truth was never simple.

I don’t know why I do it. Maybe because lying to strangers is easier than telling the truth to people who think they know you. Maybe because if I said the right things, I could be anyone other than myself.

“I didn’t lie,” I said evenly. “I prefer the term curated.”

That made him laugh, the way all rich men laugh when they think they’ve found something rare.

“I like you,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners.

I said nothing. I took in his perfectly tailored suit. The shiny, gold Rolex on his wrist. We were from two totally different worlds. Whatever he liked about me couldn't be a good thing.

He leaned back. “Most applicants want to impress me with spotless records. You, on the other hand, you understand the game. How to impress without trying.”

“I understand how to survive.”

He laughed softly, nodding. I must've passed some invisible test of his. To be honest, I didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“And that’s exactly what makes you interesting.” He leaned forward slightly, voice softening. “There’s a case I’m working on. A complicated one. And I need someone with your particular talents. Someone who knows how to make people believe things they shouldn’t.”

The pieces came together with a familiar, uneasy jolt. I knew what he was asking of me. And how deep he really dug into my past.

I stared at him. “You want me to lie in court?”

“I want you to testify in a high profile case.” He reached into his pocket and slid a card across the table. “Everything you’ll say will be prepared for you. All you have to do is play your part.”

I didn’t touch the card.

“I looked into you. I’ve read your file,” he said. “The money. The letters. The sudden rise in grades. I know what you did to get here. You’re resourceful, Sera. But let’s not pretend this little internship is what you’re really after.”

I swallowed. “What am I really after?”

He smiled like the answer was obvious. “You want the door. The one girls like you aren’t supposed to reach. Law school. Prestige. Power. You want people to stop looking at you like you begged your way in. I can give you all of that.”

“What do I get in return?” I asked. My voice didn’t waver.

“In return?” he echoed. “If you sit on that stand, you tell a story. And when it’s over, you walk out with an opportunity. I’ll rescind my initial rejection of your internship and guarantee you a spot at Crane University. Expenses fully paid.”

He was offering the one thing I’d been killing myself for, the version of me I’d been building brick by brick, lie by lie. And all it would cost was one more lie.

My fingers finally grazed the edge of the card. Curiosity had always been my worst habit.

He watched me in silence. There was no pressure in his voice, but deep down, I knew I couldn’t say no. He could expose my past, dismantle everything I'd made for myself.

But the truth was, I didn’t want to say no.

I thought about the apartment I could barely afford. The past I couldn’t erase. The years I’d spent being disposable.

I looked him in the eye. “What happens to the man I’m testifying against?”

“He loses. You win.” His response was instant and effortless. “He’s not the important one in this story. You are.”

The moment snapped into silence, and in that silence, I nodded.

And just like that, the girl I used to be disappeared. Because survival isn’t about telling the truth. It’s about choosing the path that gets you out alive.