In this world, there are people with powers. I'm one of them. So is my wife. I picked her specifically for hers.

My power? I control people with my words. Nothing too overwhelming as you might be thinking, there are so many rules and guidelines for it that it's nothing earth-shattering.

The rules for my power are fairly simple:

I give a verbal command to a single person. It does little at that moment, but it intensifies over an hour or so, during which I can't switch targets (well, I can, but it prevents it from taking hold). At that point, it's "set." I can't really replace it; trying to give that person another command ruins the process. But once they have a good night's sleep, the command passes from short-term memory into long-term, or something like that, and becomes a part of them. They don't think about it, they just accept it as part of who they are.

The command has to be simple. One concept, one thing. The words "but" and "and" are pretty much off-limits, though I can pile in adjectives without much issue. "Wisely, lovingly obey me" works as well as "obey me"; "Obey and love me" does not work at all. I can keep adding on with future commands, but it's a once-per-day kind of thing, since they have to sleep on it.

I found a job well-suited to my abilities: I'm a defense attorney. One of the most highly paid in the field, with my own law firm. I specialize in criminal law, and prefer jury trials. All I have to do is say, "You will be unable to find my client guilty" twelve times over twelve days (and trials last much longer than that), and he or she will get off the hook. I prefer cases where my clients are innocent, but the law does require that even the guilty receive a good and vigorous defense. My ability to turn even stacked juries to my client's side is quite famous in the city; sometimes I'll get asked by some young up and comer to teach him or her my ways. I do actually know the law, so I give them the best teaching I can, but naturally I don't tell them about my power.

Given all this, I can have pretty much anything I want. I have friends and acquaintances - much wealthier than myself - who are always happy to see me, and after a few visits, their families are equally excited. My own home is a rather spacious mansion, complete with a backyard pool. Probably too large for one man, but there are appearances to keep up, you know.

I'd planned, during my younger days, to simply go from attractive young woman to attractive young woman without a second thought. Why waste time with a relationship, when variety is the spice of life, and I could simply make someone provide anything I wanted or needed on demand? In retrospect, of course, I simply hadn't met the right woman.

I still remember the day I first laid eyes on her. My client, a wealthy CEO, had been accused by his wife of domestic violence. I ultimately won the day in court, letting him freely return home, and he was in discussions with a more appropriately-oriented firm to handle a civil suit for the false allegation.

A few days later, she appeared on television. She was wearing a ridiculous costume and dragging him into the police station, his knuckles bloody, his wife now in the hospital. Apparently the idiot had decided to take out his 'revenge' on his wife with his fists rather than letting an attorney do it. I had to field some rather tedious questions from the press the next day, thanks to his idiocy. Even if he had beaten his wife before the incident, even if he wanted to punish her, couldn't he just do it the sensible way and let the legal system do it? Lawyers are quite effective at ruining lives, if that's what you want them to do - much more than a pair of fists, at least. She'll be getting quite a bit in damages from that case.

In any case, she caught my eye. She was pretty, and I have to admit, I had become a bit obsessed with her. I hired an excellent private investigator I knew, Matthias Caine, to put together a dossier on her. He did need a bit of a push to be willing to do it, but I'm patient when I need to take the time to get what I want.

After a couple months of tracking her, Matthias had managed to find her secret identity. From that point, it was just a day or two of work to complete his profile.

We met at my home, the somewhat haggard ex-cop having a bad eye and a bum leg, a few scars on his features and a visible tattoo of a serpent slithering up his right arm. I passed Matthias his full envelope of cash as I took the folder from him, and offered him a pleasant smile. "Thank you for your work, Matthias. You are the best."

"You're not going to do anything stupid with this, are you Franklin?"

I laughed. "Come on. I don't do stupid things. It's just curiosity. What possesses someone to dress up like this?"

He shrugged. "Don't know if there are going to be answers to that for you in there, but good luck," he said. He stood up, cracking his shoulders. "See you, Franklin," he said.

"Goodbye, Matthias," I replied, as he left. I took the folder to my office and opened it.

Elizabeth Ross. She had a driver's license, and there was her DMV photo, front and center. I licked my lips as I started to read through the information Mr. Caine had aquired for me. Now that I had her name, I knew that she would become my wife, so it was only appropriate I paid attention to who she was.

She was a young society lady. At nineteen years old, she was the only child of William and Anna Ross, making her the heir to the Ross Corporation, which dealt in medical device manufacture, as well as having some other minor interests. William Ross and his wife had a net worth estimated at some seven billion US dollars - meaning that once I married Ms. Ross, I'd never want for money again. Not that I really wanted for money at that point, but it was the principle of the thing.

Her overall life trajectory was, itself, not overly interesting: from kindergarten on to private schools, tutors, and eventually early enrollment at MIT at the tender age of seventeen. Her test scores were extremely high, apparently having only missed a single question on the Reading & Writing section of the SAT. A smart girl from a rich family. Not much of a story there.

But that kind of resume fodder isn't everything a person's life is; she was apparently notorious for making scenes, including on one occasion striking a police officer for making an untoward pass at her during a traffic stop (she was speeding, allegedly). The charges were dropped, and the officer involved fired - presumably because her parents made it happen, since they were quite powerful in the local community. There were a few other cases, not as striking as that one but drawing from the same general pattern. Scratching up an ex-boyfriend's car for infidelity; writing an opinion piece as a guest author which largely amounted to a broadside shot at a local political candidate who called her (in private conversation that was recorded and reported to the press) a 'stupid little rich girl'; as well as a number of tumultuous and short-lived relationships that showed up in the gossip columns of the local rags.

The opinion piece was the most enlightening, since it was the one with the most detail, and the one that carried the most of her. Two hundred and sixty seven words of a systematic, carefully calibrated attack on the man - it showed real wit and venom, providing intriguing suggestions of corruption, infidelity, stupidity, and general malfeasance. I think I may even have read it before then: it got passed around a fair bit.

Her pictures were a collection of photos from various papers and, presumably, an image search - it's not as though she was a hard woman to take a photograph of, being in the public eye as she was. She was an erudite beauty; long, rich red hair, her expression varying between a fun-loving smile and an angry scowl. Plush, full lips... and a body to die for. Breasts that were so large, round and firm that they looked almost fake, but that Mr. Caine was quite certain were not (she'd had them since she was fifteen). She was slim, with somewhat toned legs and ass, giving her a gorgeous hourglass figure that was put on full display in that particular dress.

Then there was the career of her as a superheroine. Caine had put a few informed guesses as to what her costume actually was. The core of it was sleek, a red skintight thing looking like a ski suit, and he thought it was likely to be some kind of "dilatant material," which apparently hardens under pressure to provide her with seemingly inhuman durability without costing flexibility. It showed off her every curve, which was part of what had initially drawn me to her. Her helmet was sleek, looking somewhere between an astronaut's and a motorcyclist's, with the entire front simply looking like a green-grey mirror, hiding her face completely.

She also carried an assortment of various devices out with her when she was 'fighting crime,' including a jetpack that I'd seen, and some type of long-range stun weapon that I hadn't. The collection was varied in its composition, with some items never being seen twice (not good enough? Trying new things? Field tests?). Among them were energy shields, magnetic anti-ballistic defense, some kind of energy sword that didn't cause actual damage but did cause excruciating pain when it intersected a target... she was either a genius, or working with one, and Caine was quite certain it was the former.

I licked my lips again as I closed the file, taking a photograph from it to admire. Her, in an elegant black dress that showed off every curve, sipping at something that was presumably not wine as she talked to other society debutantes, wearing a warm smile and a lovely silver necklace. This young lady would become my wife, soon enough.

The question was... how to approach her? What to say? She was high society, and I was high enough in the world - and more than capable of the necessary manipulations - that I could likely find an excuse to show up at this or that function and get a moment alone. With her somewhat intense personality, however, it was very possible that she would take offense, especially given I was nearly twice her age.

I needed to have a plan in mind on how to handle things, how to lay the groundwork to future meetings without setting her off. I carefully considered my options.

I felt that it would be in my best interest to create a situation where I could interact with her in a more controlled context. The less of an opportunity for the young Ms. Ross to leave before my power could take, the better. Further, her father - though my senior by the better part of a decade - was a more plausible individual for someone like myself to speak to. Talking to young women half my age might lead to long, pleasant flings, but most folks frowned on it, and a firebrand like Elizabeth Ross could make it difficult.

I investigated and settled upon a charity dinner for homeless youths, a known pet project of Mr. Ross, which he would doubtless attend. It would be a quite expensive buy-in - some ten thousand dollars a plate - but I don't exactly want for money in any case. The opportunity to speak to him was too good to pass up.

So it was that over a week later, one lazy Saturday, I arrived in my best suit, with a check for ten thousand dollars and a good bit more money waiting to be blown on some poor children whose parents had thrown them out. After some speechifying by various long-winded and uncharismatic rich men, I found my opening to speak to Mr. Ross. He was a man who had perhaps gained twenty or thirty pounds too many (mostly around the stomach), but was otherwise cleanshaven and took care of himself, with a head of jet black hair and a square jawline.

"Ah, are you Mr. Ross?" I asked, giving my most winning smile and offering my hand.

He took it, shaking it with a smile of his own. "That I am. I'm afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage, Mr...?"

"Valentine. Franklin Valentine."

"Ah," he said, nodding. "The famous defense attorney."

I gave him my most humble smile. "I suppose that's what other people call me. If I might offer my card?"

"Oh, go ahead," he said, in good spirits. "I don't think I'll be needing it any time soon, but it never hurts."

"It certainly does not," I agreed, with a smile of my own, handing over my card. He took it, gave it a quick once over, and placed it in the breast pocket of his jacket. I continued to speak. "To be honest, I have been thinking of redirecting the emphasis of my firm." He tilted his head, clearly interested in what I had to say next. "Something like this -" I said, with a gesture. "I've made plenty of money, but perhaps my talents could be better served helping the indigent from the depredations our system sometimes inflicts upon them, than on helping the already powerful."

He laughed good-naturedly. "That's certainly a big step to take," he said, in a voice that suggested it was a warning.

"Of course, we'd still do some of our old business - there are salaries to pay, rent, and so forth. It's something I've been toying with. I'm told a good amount of your company's revenues and production goes into charity."

"It does. But, to be entirely honest?" I nodded, wanting to hear more. "In my business, the good will can help buy things that money never could on its own - getting one's foot in the door with hospitals or politicians. I don't know if it's quite the same for a legal firm."

"That is a fair point, one I had not fully considered. People aren't exactly fond of defense attorneys in the best of times." Another laugh from him. "As I recall, your wife, she also helped found the company?"

"Oh, yes. She's quite the workaholic. It would never have gotten where it is today without her."

"I don't suppose it could be arranged for me to have the chance to talk to her, as well? Oh, I'm sorry," I said quickly, as if apologetic about the untoward request. "It's just that I was thinking it would be wonderful if you invited me over for dinner with your family." I targeted my power at him, activating it without a sound or detectable shift in my body language. "But I can hardly expect you to make such an invitation, so off-handedly. My apologies."

"It's quite alright," he said, with a good natured smile. "I'm not offended. It sounds like you're just a bit nervous about taking such a large step, and it's understandable. My advice?" I nodded, gesturing for him to go on. "Take it slow. One percent for a month or two, then two percent, and so on. Set a plan. If you're ever in a situation where you're beginning to feel the proverbial waistband tighten, stop, or go back a step or two."

"Thank you very much for your advice. I hope I haven't bothered you."

"Oh, no," he said, with a shake of his head. "It's pleasant to talk to someone who isn't here just for networking, but is sincere about helping others."

I just smiled at him, with as sincere an expression as I could muster. "I'll not take up more of your time, then," I said, taking a step back. He soon began to speak to others, and I mulled around, being sure to keep him within the range of my power as it gradually took hold. The charity dinner was boring besides that, so I won't waste your time.

That Monday, I received an invitation for dinner the next day at seven, which I naturally accepted.

When the time came, I brought a bottle of champagne with me to the Ross mansion. It was easily two or three times the size of my own, probably too spacious for a family of three, but hell, I can't say mine wasn't as indulgent. A rap on the door a few times, and who should answer but the young Elizabeth Ross?

She was as beautiful in person as she was on the television screen as the Ruby Shield or in the photographs from her dossier. She obviously wasn't dressing up, but she had a natural elegance to her that exuded from her nonetheless. Her dark blue dress didn't plunge to show off cleavage, but it was drawn tight across her bust, waist, and hips. Its sleeves reached to just beyond her elbows, puffy but tightening at the end into circlets. The dress reached to just a bit below her knees, and had this similarly-colored sash-belt keeping it tight around the waist.

She smiled politely at me, obviously not particularly interested in me as a person. "Mr. Valentine?"

"Yes," I said, with a smile. "I'm here for dinner?"

"Yes, my father mentioned as much. Come in," she said, opening the door wider. "You can take the champagne to the dining room, it's just past that door."

For a moment, I considered giving her some command, but I couldn't immediately devise something appropriate for the context, so I let the moment pass, heading through the door to the dining room. It was a fairly standard rich person dining room - chandelier, large table for ten people to eat at even though typically it would be three, a rich tablecloth, fine china set out. Mr. Ross smiled as I entered. "Welcome," he said, taking my hand and shaking it firmly. "Dinner will be just..." he paused, looking at his watch, "another ten minutes. Our cook has to finish things up."

"Of course," I agreed, with a calm smile on my lips. I gestured with the champagne to ask for his directions on where to put it.

"Let me see?" I handed it over. "A fine vintage," he said, with a smile. "Let's put it on the table," he said, simply placing it down in the middle. "Allow me to collect my wife."

The dinner itself was nothing overly special, certainly not by the standards of a man who can ensure that his hosts prepare only the absolute best that they can, and is quite familiar with a variety of very wealthy families. When all were settled in, I immediately set about doing what I came here to do - establishing the first step of control over the young Ms. Elizabeth Ross. The sooner, the better, because I couldn't know for certain how long I would be staying here, or how long Elizabeth would be at the table.

I turned to her mother, Anna. "William was just telling me recently that without you, the company would never have gotten where it was today. Were I your husband, I would be incredibly happy to know that you want to be my wife." My words were, again, plain-spoken, indistinguishable from the sentences around them, but this time, my power was targeted at Elizabeth.

Anna smiled at that, reaching over to pat her husband's hand. "He really is a sweetheart," she said, with a smile on her lips. She wasn't quite as beautiful as her daughter - likely not even when she was a younger woman - but she was certainly pretty, a pair of glasses perched on the tip of her nose, chestnut brown hair wavy around her features. "Thank you for the compliment. While I'm proud of the Ross Corporation, it is sometimes a bit of a hit to know that the world at large rarely attributes its success anywhere near my direction." She leaned over, pecking her husband on the cheek. "Though of course the most important man's opinion matters to me the most." She squeezed her husband's hand.

We talked a bit, about my hypothetical charity cases, about the Ross Corporation, about philanthropy in general. Elizabeth was quiet, almost dour, as she ate her meal. As I watched her out of the corner of my eye, I fast began to conclude that she was planning to leave before the meal was finished, and, being an adult, would likely be allowed to do so.

I, of course, could not let this happen - I was fairly certain my power had not yet fully taken hold on her. So I prompted her. "You've been very quiet, Ms. Ross," I told her, with a polite smile. "Is something bothering you?"

"Yes," she said, staring daggers at me. "You."

I tilted my head, pretending not to understand. Inside my chest, my heart raced at the implausible thought that perhaps she had some sort of mental shielding device, or had otherwise detected and preempted my power, and that I had overstepped and was about to get in quite a lot of legal trouble. "How so?" Regardless of whether or not she knew, there was absolutely no sense in confessing.

"Jane Carmichael. Does that name mean anything to you?"

My heart kept pounding - that kind of elevation in intensity doesn't vanish the moment you learn you're safe - but I felt a sense of relief that I only barely managed to hide in my expression and body language. She was just thinking of my involvement with Mrs. Carmichael's husband, who she had dragged into the police station herself. "The wife of one of my clients," I admitted.

"What was that client being accused of?" She asked, with a tilt of her head and a sour expression.

"Assault and battery." I paused, to drag it out a bit further. "Against his wife."

"Which he promptly did again the second he had the chance," she half-spat.

At this point her father spoke up. "Elizabeth," he said, his voice sharp.

"It's quite alright," I said, with a polite smile. "Even the guilty deserve their fair shake in court," I explained, turning back to Elizabeth. "Besides which, as I stated in press conferences after the fact, I had no way of knowing whether or not he actually beat his wife." Besides mind controlling him into confessing to me, I suppose.

"You help these slimeballs slink away from their crimes," she said, raising her fork at me with a vaguely threatening expression on her face.

"Elizabeth." It was her mother's turn to try to interrupt. "This is not appropriate behavior at the dinner table with a guest."

I just smiled. "No, no, it's quite alright. I really would like to discuss this, if Elizabeth is so interested," I said.

"Well. I suppose," her mother said, obviously surprised I wasn't taking deep offense at Elizabeth's words.

Elizabeth frowned, squinting at me with some degree of uncertainty. As if she wasn't quite able to understand where I was coming from. "I guess I am interested," she said, at last, losing some of her bite from the sudden lurch in the direction the conversation was going.

"Everyone, even the guilty, deserves fair representation. The United States uses an adversarial legal system - that means that there is a party whose job is to put forward the best possible evidence for the defendant, and a party whose job it is to put forward the best possible evidence against him or her. It's up to the jury to decide, and in this case, the evidence was, frankly, insufficient. Even a much worse lawyer than myself would have managed to get him off - I did it while taking quite a bit of his money."

"So that's your excuse? That you're taking money from him?"

"No. As I said, my 'excuse'," I said, putting a little contempt into the word, to get her riled up so she wouldn't back down from the argument, "is that the entire United States legal system is built around 'scumbags' like Nathan Carmichael getting their full legal defense. Surely you wouldn't like it if you were arrested and accused of some crime, and no one would defend you because they'd already decided you were guilty?" I absently bit into the delicious garlic bread they had as I awaited her response.

"There's plenty of people better than that jackass to defend," she replied. "You're one of the best defense attorneys in the world, and you're wasting your talent helping a wifebeater."

I shrugged my shoulders. "That wifebeater is also the CEO of a major pharmaceutical company that recently unveiled a program - admittedly heavily based in PR - to distribute antivirals in poor African countries. Besides which," I said, pausing to take a sip of my drink, "I'm no longer representing Mr. Carmichael. I don't take dead end cases - that's part of why I have an almost perfect record."

"So once they're too obviously guilty, then they don't deserve a good defense?" She was clever and quick, at least, turning my own words against me.

I shrugged again. Honestly, I wasn't in the legal profession for its moral purity, just for my natural talent. But the little argument was enjoyable enough, and buying me the time I needed to get my power to work. "I'd prefer to maintain my reputation than to go down with the proverbial ship. Our system is built to encourage exactly that behavior - and it's not built by some random idiots. The United States has the oldest constitution in the world because our institutions, including our criminal justice system, are among the most well-designed on the planet."

"Something can be stable and also wrong," she shot back.

"You're welcome to try to change it," I replied. "Tell you what, when you run for office, I'll vote for you." Of course, that would never happen. Being a State Senator or Mayor or whatever else effectively precluded being a housewife, which was the role she was actually destined for.

She snorted. "Yeah, okay," she said, leaning back. Her eyes considered me, like I was prey and she was predator. She absently played with her knife in one hand, and I'm not quite certain she even realized she was doing it. Then she turned back to her meal, and ate.

"Well," William said, in the silence that followed. "Quite the conversation. Elizabeth can be a bit... opinionated, as you can see."

"An opinionated young woman is a good thing, I say," I lied through my teeth without giving the slightest hint that I didn't believe what I was saying. One talent you pick up as a lawyer. "It's not the nineteenth century any longer, women are allowed to vote and all that."

Anna gave a little laugh at the phrasing of 'and all that.' "Yes, I suppose it isn't," she agreed.

When the conversation returned to its casual pace, Elizabeth participated, if only lightly, and she stuck around for dessert, which I'd worried she wouldn't do. It gave my power all the time I needed to affect her mind, and I left on fairly good terms with the family.