Updated Feb 18, 2026 • ~9 min read
The email arrives on a Thursday morning.
Subject: Bar Reinstatement Hearing – Update
Roman stares at it for a full minute before opening.
His hands shake.
Dear Mr. Castellanos,
The Washington State Bar Association has completed its review of your case. In light of your whistleblower status, Mr. Hartford’s criminal conviction, and the public interest served by your disclosure, we have decided to schedule a reinstatement hearing.
This does not guarantee reinstatement. You will need to demonstrate rehabilitation, provide character references, and convince the board that you deserve a second chance.
The hearing is scheduled for March 15th. Please confirm your attendance.
Roman reads it three times.
Then shows Harlow.
“Is this real?” she asks.
“I think so.”
“They’re actually considering reinstating you?”
“Maybe. They’re giving me a hearing. That’s more than I expected.”
Harlow throws her arms around him. “This is amazing! This is what you’ve been waiting for!”
Roman wants to feel excited.
But all he feels is terrified.
Because what if he goes through this hearing and they still say no?
What if he gets his hopes up just to be crushed again?
“What are you thinking?” Harlow asks, pulling back.
“I’m thinking this might be a courtesy hearing. A formality before they officially deny me.”
“Or it might be real. A real chance to get your license back.”
“And if I don’t? If they say no again?”
“Then we keep building what we have. Your consulting business. My work. The life we’re creating.” She takes his hands. “You don’t need a law license to be successful, Roman. You’re already successful.”
He wants to believe her.
But the lawyer part of him—the part that defined himself for ten years—desperately wants this.
Wants redemption.
Wants to practice law again. On his terms. Helping people who actually need it.
“I’m going to prepare,” he says. “Like my life depends on it.”
“I’ll help. Whatever you need.”
The next six weeks are brutal.
Roman works with Declan to build his reinstatement case.
Character references. Letters from clients. Evidence of rehabilitation.
Proof that he’s not the same person who violated ethical rules two years ago.
Harlow writes a letter on his behalf.
Roman Castellanos is the most ethical person I know. Not because he never made mistakes, but because when faced with an impossible choice, he chose truth over career. He exposed fraud. He protected a victim. He did what was right even when it cost him everything.
That’s the kind of lawyer the profession needs.
Someone who values justice over winning.
Someone who will fight for what’s right instead of what’s profitable.
Please give him a second chance. He deserves it.
It’s honest. Heartfelt.
And Roman cries when he reads it.
“You really believe this?” he asks.
“Every word.”
“Even after everything? The scandal? The poverty? The fact that I destroyed both our lives?”
“You didn’t destroy our lives. You saved mine. And yeah, it was messy and complicated and we lost a lot. But we found each other. That’s worth everything.”
Roman kisses her.
Hard. Desperate.
Like he’s trying to memorize this moment before it disappears.
The hearing is in downtown Seattle.
Same building where Roman was disbarred.
Same conference room. Same panel of judges.
It’s surreal.
Declan sits beside him. Harlow sits in the gallery.
And Roman tries not to panic.
The panel reviews his file. Asks questions.
“Mr. Castellanos, you violated one of the most sacred duties of our profession. Attorney-client privilege exists for a reason. Why should we trust you not to violate it again?”
Roman has prepared for this.
“Because I understand now what I didn’t understand then. That there are proper channels for reporting fraud. Whistleblower protections. Ethics hotlines. I should have used those instead of acting unilaterally.”
“But would you? If faced with the same situation?”
Roman hesitates.
Because the honest answer is: yes. He would absolutely do it again.
Reporting through proper channels would have taken months. By then, Harlow would have been financially destroyed.
He saved her by acting quickly. Improperly. But effectively.
“I would report the fraud,” he says carefully. “But I would do it correctly. Through the bar association. Through law enforcement. I wouldn’t hand evidence directly to opposing counsel.”
It’s a diplomatic answer.
Not entirely honest. But safe.
The panel doesn’t look convinced.
“What about your relationship with Ms. Hartford? You began dating her while still representing her husband. That’s a clear conflict of interest.”
“Our relationship began after I withdrew from the case.”
“The timeline is disputed.”
“The timeline is documented. I withdrew on August 10th. Our first date was August 15th.”
It’s a lie.
They kissed before that. Started falling for each other weeks before August 10th.
But technically, they didn’t officially date until after he withdrew.
Technicalities matter in law.
The panel confers quietly.
Then the lead judge speaks.
“Mr. Castellanos, we appreciate your candor. We’ll deliberate and deliver a decision within thirty days.”
That’s it.
No indication of which way they’re leaning. No hints.
Just: we’ll let you know.
Roman stands. Shakes hands. Walks out.
And the moment he’s in the hallway, he collapses against the wall.
“How do you think it went?” Harlow asks.
“I have no idea.”
“They asked tough questions.”
“They always do.”
“But you answered well.”
“Did I? Or did I just tell them what they wanted to hear?”
Harlow doesn’t answer.
Because she knows. They both know.
Roman lied during that hearing.
Not outright. But by omission. By framing.
And if they find out—if they discover the relationship started earlier, that the timeline is bullshit—he’ll never get his license back.
The waiting is agony.
Thirty days feels like thirty years.
Roman obsesses. Replays every question. Every answer. Every moment where he could have said something different.
Harlow tries to distract him.
Takes him to movies. Dinners. Weekend trips.
But his mind is always on the hearing.
On whether they’ll give him a second chance.
Or destroy him permanently.
“You need to stop spiraling,” she says one night.
“I can’t. This is everything. If I get my license back, I can actually practice law again. Help people. Be someone.”
“You’re already someone.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. Because you keep acting like you’re nothing without a law license. And that’s bullshit, Roman. You’re a good person. A smart person. Someone who helps people. The license doesn’t define that.”
“It defines my career.”
“Then find a new career. You’re already doing consulting. You’re good at it. Why do you need the bar association’s approval to feel valid?”
“Because I spent ten years building that career. I can’t just let it go.”
“You already let it go. Two years ago. When you chose me over Miles.”
Roman knows she’s right.
But knowing doesn’t make it easier.
On day twenty-eight, Roman gets a call.
Unknown number.
“Mr. Castellanos? This is Judge Harrison from the bar association.”
Roman’s heart stops. “Yes?”
“We’ve reached a decision. We’d like you to come in tomorrow at 10 AM to receive the verdict.”
“Can you tell me now?”
“We prefer to deliver it in person.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I can’t say. Just be here tomorrow.”
They hang up.
And Roman stares at his phone.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow he finds out if he gets his life back.
Or loses it forever.
“What did they say?” Harlow asks.
“They want me there tomorrow. 10 AM.”
“That’s good, right? If it was a rejection, they’d just send a letter.”
“Maybe. Or they want to reject me in person so I can’t appeal.”
“You’re catastrophizing.”
“I’m being realistic.”
Harlow takes his face in her hands. “Roman. Listen to me. Whatever happens tomorrow, we’ll be okay. If they reinstate you, amazing. We celebrate. If they don’t, we keep building what we have. Either way, we’re okay.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Roman wants to believe her.
He really does.
But tonight, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, all he can think is:
Please. Please let them say yes.
I need this.
I need to prove I’m not a failure.
I need to be a lawyer again.
Please.
The next morning, Roman and Harlow drive to downtown Seattle.
Same building. Same conference room.
The panel is already seated.
Judge Harrison gestures for Roman to sit.
“Mr. Castellanos, we’ve reviewed your case extensively. Considered your rehabilitation efforts. Read letters from clients and colleagues. Evaluated your conduct over the past two years.”
Roman can’t breathe.
“We recognize that your disclosure of Mr. Hartford’s fraud served the public interest. That you acted as a whistleblower, albeit improperly. That your actions led to a criminal conviction and protected a vulnerable party.”
A pause.
“However.”
Roman’s stomach drops.
“However, we also recognize that you violated fundamental ethical duties. You breached attorney-client privilege. You engaged in a conflict of interest. And while we appreciate your rehabilitation efforts, we cannot overlook the severity of your misconduct.”
No.
No no no.
“Therefore, the board has decided—”
Roman closes his eyes.
Prepares for rejection.
For permanent disbarment.
For the end of everything.
“—to reinstate your license on a probationary basis.”
Roman’s eyes snap open. “What?”
“You’ll be reinstated. But you’ll be subject to monitoring for three years. Random audits. Ethical training. Any violation during this period will result in immediate and permanent disbarment. Do you understand?”
“I… yes. Yes, I understand.”
“Your license will be active as of today. Congratulations, Mr. Castellanos. Don’t make us regret this.”
Roman stands.
Shakes hands.
Walks out of the room.
And the moment he’s in the hallway, Harlow throws her arms around him.
“You did it! You got your license back!”
Roman is shaking.
Can’t process it.
After two years. After giving up hope.
He’s a lawyer again.
He can practice law.
He can actually do the work he trained for.
“I can’t believe it,” he whispers.
“Believe it. You earned this.”
Roman holds her.
And thinks: This is real. This is actually happening.
I’m not a failure.
I’m a lawyer.
I got my second chance.
And for the first time in two years, Roman feels whole.
Reader Reactions