When I was twelve, my dad and I had a ritual. Every Friday night, after the dishes were done and the house grew quiet, we’d boot up *Law & Order: Legacies* on his old laptop. He’d lean back in his recliner, I’d curl up beside him with a bowl of popcorn, and together, we’d step into the shoes of prosecutors and detectives in the gritty courtrooms of New York.
Dad always played the straight-laced lawyer, methodically dissecting witness testimonies, while I loved the thrill of the investigation—scouring crime scenes for clues, interrogating suspects with dramatic flair. We’d debate theories, argue over evidence, and sometimes, when the game’s twists surprised us, we’d gasp in unison before bursting into laughter.
One case, *The People vs. Carter*, stumped us for weeks. A high-profile murder with too many loose ends. We must’ve replayed the final interrogation a dozen times, searching for the missing piece. Then, one night, Dad paused the game and said, *"Wait—what if the alibi’s too perfect?"* We dug deeper, found the inconsistency, and won the case. He high-fived me so hard my hand stung.
Years later, the laptop died, and the game faded into nostalgia. But sometimes, when I hear the *Law & Order* theme song, I’m back in that dimly lit living room, solving crimes with my partner—my dad—one pixelated case at a time.