Chapter 6

Nicholas still hadn’t come up with a concrete plan for his future, but he had some beginning steps listed in his notebook. One of them was practical — he needed to get his juvenile record sealed. It was worth a shot now that he’d turned nineteen. He gathered his grade report, showing his GED results and a letter from Ray praising his work ethic and reliability. With these documents carefully placed in a folder, Nicholas made an appointment with a lawyer.

The law office of Patricia Winters was in a converted Victorian house on the edge of downtown. Nothing fancy, not one of those gleaming high-rise firms with marble lobbies and receptionists who looked at you like you were dirt. Just a simple sign in the yard and a buzzer at the front door.

Nicholas had found Ms. Winters through a legal aid pamphlet at the community college. She specialized in juvenile cases and offered initial consultations for free. Perfect for someone like him, living on auto mechanic wages while saving for college.

He wore the only decent clothes he owned—khaki pants and a button-up shirt he’d bought at Goodwill for interviews. His hair was freshly cut, not too short, not too long. Professional. Invisible. That’s what Nicholas was aiming for these days: the ability to move through the world without drawing attention, without setting off anyone’s alarms.

He arrived ten minutes early and waited on the porch until exactly 3:00 PM, then rang the buzzer. A voice through the intercom asked his name.

“Nicholas Carter. I have an appointment with Ms. Winters.”

The door buzzed open. Inside, the house had been converted to offices, but retained some of its original character—dark wood trim, high ceilings, creaky floors. The receptionist, an older woman with silver-streaked hair and reading glasses on a chain, looked up and smiled.

“You can have a seat. Mr. Carter. Ms. Winters will be with you shortly.”

Nicholas nodded, sat in one of the chairs against the wall, and placed his folder neatly on his lap. No fidgeting, no looking at his phone (he didn’t have one anyway), just sitting straight and calm. The Stoics suggested that waiting time wasn’t wasted time—it was an opportunity to collect your thoughts, to practice patience. He made it a habit of finding odd ways to challenge himself. He figured it was a workout for his will.

After about five minutes, a door opened and a woman in her forties appeared. She wore a blue blazer over jeans and a white blouse and had her dark hair pulled back in a simple ponytail.

“Nicholas? I’m Patricia Winters. Come on in.”

Her office was organized chaos—stacks of files and law books on every surface, sticky notes clinging to her computer monitor, diplomas and certifications covering one wall. She gestured to a chair in front of her desk and sat down, quickly clearing a space for a legal pad.

“So,” she said, looking directly at him, “you’re interested in getting your juvenile record sealed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nicholas replied, opening his folder. “I brought some documents that might help my case.”

She held up a hand. “Before we get to those, why don’t you tell me a bit about your situation? What’s on your record, and why do you want it sealed now?”

Nicholas had prepared for this question, had rehearsed the answer in his mind to be concise, factual, and neither apologetic nor defensive.

“When I was fifteen, I was convicted of grand theft auto. I served three years in juvenile detention and was released at eighteen. During my incarceration, developed an interest in education. Since my release, I’ve maintained steady employment at Ray’s Auto Repair and completed and passed the GED. My scores are in the folder. This fall I will be attending Highline Junior College. I plan to study philosophy and psychology.”

She wrote some notes, her face neutral. “And why do you want your record sealed?”

“I want to transfer to a four-year university, eventually. I want to apply for better apartments, better jobs. I want the chance to be judged on who I am now, not who I was at fifteen.”

She nodded. “That’s reasonable. Legally, you should have been eligible to have your record sealed when you turned eighteen, especially since your offense was non-violent in nature. You haven’t had any subsequent arrests or charges, correct?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good.” She held out her hand. “Let me see what you’ve brought.”

Nicholas passed her the folder. She reviewed his transcripts, the letter from Ray, and a few other documents he’d included—his lease on his apartment showing on-time rent payments and the letter showing his GED test scores.