“You have a bit less than a month, Mr. Stone, at such time you will return and examine the new witness, plus present your final arguments. Be ready.”
“That’s very generous of you. Thank you, your Honor.”
“Thank the Founding Fathers for the Independence Day holiday and the hotel staff at the swim-up hut for which I have already paid quite a bit for this grace, Mr. Stone. Barring any other unforeseen circumstances, we will reconvene on July 21st. Until then, court is adjourned.” Judge Bennett banged the gavel, gathered her robes, and stood to depart.
“All rise,” the bailiff instructed.
Everyone rose dutifully, except for Claremore. “Get up,” Jace gritted through clenched teeth.
Outside the courtroom, reporters waited hungrily for the scoop. Jason Stone, as lead counsel, was surrounded, fielding rapid-fire questions with charm and grace. Jace was brown-haired, blue-eyed, and movie-star handsome. He was smart, down-to-earth and funny, not what she’d expected from an Ivy Leaguer when she was assigned to work under him three years ago. He would have been a perfect ten, if he wasn’t a self-proclaimed and very active manwhore.
“How do you think things went today? Is Claremore headed for prison or the country club?” one reporter asked him.
“Neither. Mr. Claremore is a busy man and needs to get back to managing his properties on behalf of his tenants as soon as possible.”
“It looks like you guys are stalling for time. Does this mean you’re not confident you’re gonna win this one?” another inquired, almost gleefully.
Jace flashed that golden-boy, camera-ready smile. “When Mr. Claremore is acquitted of these baseless charges, he’s going to go back to doing what he does best, which is helping renew the South Bronx through the development of mixed-income residential spaces and community centers. The South Bronx has been ignored long enough. Now, if you’ll please excuse us…”
That was bullshit and Jace knew it. But he was a good attorney, dedicated to providing fair representation under the law, as accorded to everyone.
The old man from the courtroom was standing nearby, still gazing squarely at Vanessa. She tried to smile at him but failed.
Claremore’s car pulled up, driven by his associate and alleged chief goon Joe Spallini. Before he could swagger over to the reporters and say something stupid that would make the public detest him even more, Jace snatched him up by the upper armand hustled him into the backseat. Jace slammed the top with his hand, indicating the driver should take off before Claremore could roll down the window and stick his head out. Then he looked back at her and Sandy with his eyebrows raised.
That was their bat signal to leave and have their post-court huddle. “Come with me, Sand,” Vanessa said.
She glanced at Sandy as she buckled herself into the passenger seat. Like the alternate universe version of Jace, Sandy was dark-haired and dark-eyed. She’d attended Howard, a Black Ivy League school, following in the footsteps of her African American mother and her Korean American father. Sandy’s power couple parents had plans for their daughter to join the family firm as an in-house attorney. This criminal law clerking stint was for experience only, not meant to be permanent.
“How do you think that went?” Vanessa asked.
Sandy was typically quiet and soft-spoken. It was probably for the best that she’d end up doing corporate law for her parents rather than become a trial attorney.
“I hope he burns,” she said softly, staring out the window at the passing streets. “But for you and Jace’s sake, I hope you win.”
“Yeah,” Vanessa sighed. “It is a dilemma.”
When they reached the old tavern, McSmiley’s, their usual hangout, Jace was standing out front, listening to someone on his cell phone. He looked disturbed. Indicating they should go on in, he was out there for another fifteen minutes. Vanessa could see him through the window, his chiseled face etched with concern, while she ordered them their usual round of beers and appetizers.
Finally, he came inside the bar and slid into the bench opposite them with a deep groan. They waited to talk until their waitress brought them their food and drinks.
“So?” Vanessa prodded.
“Okay,” Jace said, clapping his hands together. “Mancini got a call from Claremore the minute his ass hit the backseat. He wants to take the stand when we come back. He’s afraid we’re losing, which we very well probably are, and believes he can convince a jury better than we can.”
Although they’d known this was more than likely going to happen, Vanessa and Sandy groaned in unison.
“For fuck’s sake. He’s going to get ripped apart up there,” Vanessa exclaimed.
And would that be a bad thing?
Jace said, “I know. As bad as that sounds, I’ve got even worse news for you, Watson. Or good news, depending on how you look at it.” He rifled his hand through his hair, then took a sip of beer. “Mancini wants you to handle direct and cross for Claremore’s testimony. And they want you to give closing arguments.”
They went silent for a moment, Vanessa and Sandy staring at him.
“Let me take a good guess why.”
Claremore’s aggressive tactics were being called out as discriminatory, as nearly all the victims were Black and brown.
