Updated Feb 18, 2026 • ~7 min read
The Washington State Bar Association disciplinary hearing is held in a conference room that smells like old files and broken dreams.
Roman sits at a table with his attorney—a colleague who took the case as a favor and looks like he regrets it.
Across from them: three board members. Two men, one woman. All with decades of legal experience. All looking at Roman like he’s something distasteful they found on their shoe.
Miles’s complaint is first.
Victoria presents it. Calm. Professional. Devastating.
“Mr. Castellanos was retained to represent Miles Hartford in his divorce. Instead of providing competent representation, he began a romantic relationship with Mrs. Hartford. He violated attorney-client privilege by providing her with confidential financial information. He sabotaged his own client’s case. And when confronted, he assaulted Mr. Hartford in a public establishment.”
The board members take notes.
Roman’s attorney objects. “The assault charges are pending and unproven—”
“But the rest is documented.” Victoria slides evidence across the table. “Text messages between Mr. Castellanos and Mrs. Hartford. Photos of them together during active litigation. Testimony from witnesses who saw them meeting privately. Bank records showing Mr. Castellanos accessed confidential files and delivered them to opposing counsel.”
It’s damning.
All of it.
Because it’s true.
Roman did everything they’re accusing him of.
The only question is whether the board will show mercy.
Spoiler: they won’t.
“Mr. Castellanos,” one of the board members says. Middle-aged man with gray hair and disapproving eyes. “Do you deny these allegations?”
“No,” Roman says.
His attorney shoots him a look. Don’t make this worse.
But Roman is done lying.
“I began a relationship with Harlow Hartford while representing her husband. I violated confidentiality by giving her evidence of fraud. I prioritized her wellbeing over my client’s interests. All of it is true.”
The board members exchange looks.
“You’re admitting to multiple ethical violations?” the woman asks.
“Yes. Because they happened. Denying them would be pointless.”
“Mr. Castellanos, do you understand the severity of what you’ve done?” the second man asks. “Attorney-client privilege is sacred. Violating it destroys public trust in the legal profession.”
“I understand. But Miles Hartford was committing crimes. Hiding millions in offshore accounts to defraud his wife. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—help him do that.”
“You could have withdrawn from the case. Reported the fraud through proper channels. What you couldn’t do is share confidential information with opposing counsel.”
“I know. But proper channels would’ve taken months. Years. Harlow would’ve been destroyed financially by then.” Roman looks at each board member. “I made a choice. Help her or follow rules that were protecting a criminal. I chose her.”
“You chose to violate your ethical obligations.”
“Yes.”
The hearing continues for three hours.
They call witnesses. Declan testifies about Roman’s behavior. How he changed after meeting Harlow. How he stopped acting like a competent attorney.
Miles testifies. Plays the victim perfectly. Talks about how Roman betrayed his trust. Destroyed his case. Assaulted him.
Even Harlow is called.
She sits in the witness chair. Under oath. Answering questions she doesn’t want to answer.
“Did Mr. Castellanos provide you with confidential information about your husband’s finances?” Victoria asks.
“Yes.”
“Did you know that information was privileged?”
“I… suspected.”
“But you accepted it anyway. Used it in your case.”
“Yes.”
“Did you pursue a romantic relationship with Mr. Castellanos while he was representing your husband?”
Harlow hesitates.
Roman wants to tell her to lie. To save herself.
But she doesn’t.
“Yes,” she says. “I pursued him. It wasn’t one-sided. We both wanted it.”
“Even though you knew it was inappropriate?”
“Even though.”
“Why?”
Harlow looks at Roman. “Because I fell in love with him. And sometimes love doesn’t wait for appropriate timing.”
The board members don’t look impressed by the romance of it.
When Harlow steps down, Roman mouths I’m sorry.
She mouths back: Don’t be.
The hearing concludes at five PM.
The board doesn’t deliberate immediately. They’ll take a week. Review evidence. Make a decision.
But everyone in the room knows what that decision will be.
Disbarment.
Permanent. Final.
Roman walks out of the building feeling numb.
His attorney follows. “That was a disaster.”
“I know.”
“You basically confessed to everything. Made it easy for them.”
“I wasn’t going to lie.”
“You should have. Lying might have saved your career.”
“I don’t want a career built on lies.” Roman stops walking. “Thank you. For representing me. I know it was a lost cause.”
His attorney sighs. “For what it’s worth? I admire what you did. Ethically, it was wrong. But morally? You did the right thing.”
“That doesn’t save my license.”
“No. But it saves your integrity. That’s worth something.”
They part ways.
And Roman finds Harlow waiting by his car.
“How bad was it?” she asks.
“Bad. They’re going to disbar me. Probably permanently.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I knew this was coming.” Roman unlocks his car. “Get in. Let’s get out of here before reporters find us.”
They drive in silence.
Back to Roman’s apartment. Their refuge from the world.
Inside, with the door locked and curtains drawn, Harlow says, “I ruined your life.”
“We’ve been over this. You didn’t—”
“I did. You had a successful career. A partnership. A future. And I destroyed all of it.”
“I destroyed it. By choosing you. By making decisions that prioritized love over ethics.” Roman pulls her close. “And I’d do it again. Every time.”
“Why?”
“Because for the first time in my career, I helped someone who actually deserved help. Because I chose right over winning. Because I fell in love with someone worth losing everything for.”
Harlow’s eyes are wet. “That’s stupid.”
“Completely.”
“We’re both idiots.”
“Absolutely.”
They kiss.
And it’s different now.
Not stolen. Not forbidden. Not secret.
Just theirs.
Two people who loved each other into professional ruin.
Two people who have nothing left except each other.
And somehow, that’s enough.
The board’s decision comes one week later.
Roman Castellanos: Disbarred
Effective immediately
The ruling is harsh. Detailed. Lists every violation. Every mistake. Every ethical failure.
And concludes:
Mr. Castellanos’s conduct represents a fundamental betrayal of the attorney-client relationship. His actions have damaged public trust in the legal profession. Therefore, the board finds disbarment is the only appropriate sanction. Mr. Castellanos is permanently prohibited from practicing law in Washington State.
Permanent.
No appeal. No second chances.
Done.
Roman reads the decision sitting at his kitchen table.
Harlow is there with him. Reading over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“I’m not.”
“Roman—”
“I’m not. They made the right decision. What I did was unethical. Probably illegal. I violated every rule in the book.” He sets down the papers. “But I saved you. And that’s worth more than a law license.”
“What are you going to do now? For work?”
“I don’t know. Legal consulting, maybe. Helping people who can’t afford lawyers. Something that doesn’t require a license but uses my skills.”
“Will that pay the bills?”
“Probably not. I’ll have to downsize. Move somewhere cheaper. Figure it out.”
Harlow takes his hand. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do. You destroyed your career for me. The least I can do is help you rebuild.”
Roman looks at her. This woman who’s been through hell. Who’s lost almost everything. Who’s still here. Still choosing him.
“I love you,” he says.
“I love you too. Even though you’re unemployed and disbarred and facing assault charges.”
“Romantic.”
“I’m a very romantic person.”
They laugh.
Because what else can they do?
Their lives are in ruins. Their reputations destroyed. Their futures uncertain.
But they have each other.
And right now, that has to be enough.
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