Checkmate

30

3 Weeks Later

"The motion to dismiss has been denied. Next case!" Judge Oakley declared, dismissing the court with a loud bang of his gavel.

I didn't care to hide my satisfaction with this decision.

   For the past two weeks, Cyril McAdams made it his mission to see this case thrown out, arguing as I expected, that my client was a bitter ex only seeking to play the victim now that, and I quote "She's made herself look a fool and now needs her ex-husband to play the villain in order for her redemption arch to look believable."

Gathering my things, Mr.McAdams' presence loomed over me like a grey cloud as he approached.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Kimberly. You've always been an overachiever. This time you might have bit off more than you can chew."

I chuckled at his antics, unimpressed with his failed attempt to once again get me to drop it.

With a knowing smile, I turned to him and sighed an exaggerated breath, "Save your arguments for the trial, Mr. McAdams. I'm not the one being tried here, your client is. So I hope for your sake you'll prep him well. You still remember how to do that don't you?"

Plastering on a tight smile, I shrugged on my coat and then hoisted my bag over my shoulder, leaving my colleague with his jaw set, glaring at me as I walked to the elevator.

   Cyril McAdams was the attorney people called with controversial cases. The man tackled public scrutiny like the professional that he was. If it wasn't for his record of defending individuals that definitely belonged behind bars, I would be looking up to him as a senior in this field I loved so much. Unfortunately, his morals could never earn him the praise given to his record.

We'd never seen eye to eye, but once news of my exploits at Madison & Rogers spread, his dislike of me only grew, and once Dellana made it clear that she wanted me as a partner, the man has gone out of his way to smear my name every chance he got.

Clearly, someone wasn't so happy that a black woman with only five years in the business and who didn't graduate from one of those Ivy League schools managed to accomplish what a white privileged pompous ass couldn't even come near in his twenty years of practice.

When I got to the office, Destiny informed me that Dellana had called a meeting.

"I'll take your stuff, they're waiting for you," she hurriedly told me, taking my bag before I slipped out of my coat with a "Thank you."

She smirked as I handed her the wool garment.

"How did McAdams take the loss?"

I grinned at her knowingly.

"This time when I left he didn't throw a tantrum. Shocking, I know," I said, rolling my eyes for emphasis.

I adjusted my blouse, pausing to give her a 360 view of my attire and she nodded approvingly.

"There's this little trick I learned with Sam early on," I told her, and she eyed me with a curious look.

"You don't give a toddler throwing a fit extra attention. That rule also applies to jackasses and man-babies alike."

Destiny's laughter boomed through the hall and I shrugged, making a show of sauntering to the board room, allowing myself to be fashionably late just this once.