The Traitor ✓ (Book Six)

Chapter Twenty Six

After our second break for that day, we will return to the room, and a verdict will be read. The last one was only five minutes, a recess requested by the prosecution because of how horribly they were doing. From what I overheard, they wanted time to formulate a new angle. The judge basically said I'll give you time to go the bathroom and come back. With the way she looked at them, you'd think she was trying to drill holes through their heads. In america she'd be pulled from the trial for being unprofessional, but I guess the definition is different everywhere.

Another thing that's done different here is the freedom of prisoners while in trial. Right now, Maria, her client, a prison guard and I are leaving to go get lunch. We're all starving and figured- hey, why not? Prisoners gotta eat too. If she somehow gets convicted, this'll be the last decent meal she has. Maria insisted on paying as she always does. I don't think she's ever let anybody but her father pay for things.

For fucks sake- Mina Wells is the second richest person in the world at just fifteen( Ahh, the benefits of your royal brother leaving you his entire estate from a estate-tax free country) and he's still one hundred billion ahead of her.

The prison guard insists on driving Maria'a car. After some arguing over the seating arrangement, her and the guard end up in the front, and I'm in the back with her client. A few times she gets uncomfortably close. I don't let it bother me. I've dealt with worse. At the restaurant, Maria makes me try something I can't pronounce, having been away from all parts of my culture for a decade, and it's fucking delicious.

With my plate halfway full because of how rich the dish is, I turn to her.

"Ya know, I hadn't had Gallo pinto once until I moved here." I shrug.

"What? Oh come on, you were missing out." The look on her face is one of genuine shock. I miss the times where something as simple as food didn't remind me of prison. Now, it's all I can think about.

"I'm aware. My neighbor basically shoveled it into my mouth. I had enough for a family of five in my fridge." I smile. That part is true at least. She made it in bull and fed the entire neighborhood at once. But because I'm antisocial, she brought it to me. That kind of thing just didn't happen in Guantanamo bay.

"Our uh, chef's made it more times than I can count. Where did you live before you moved here?" Maria asks.

Annndd there's the question I've been dreading, I think.

I know what my fake life story is. It feels wrong coming from my mouth because of how secret service rewired our brains to not lie. Then again, it felt worse when I was actively part of a terrorist organization.

"Just.... In... the States." I say. That part isn't false, either. I just didn't tell her the true timeline.

"Oh- well... do you like it better here?" She presses.

Do I like a place with complete freedom over a Supermax prison with instant food where I spent twenty three hours a day inside?

"Yeah. Yeah I do." I answer. Maria finally drops it, then suddenly, her client speaks up.

"Maria?" The client says.

"Mhmn?" She mumbles through a bite of food. Even now, she is beautiful-

Do you think I'll get convicted?" The client asks. Maria looks up from her food, wiping her mouth with a napkin. She tries to answer in the most professional way possible.

"Well.... I can't speculate but.... I don't think so. We made a very convincing argument to the jury. I can't say the same for him." She shrugs.

"Yeah, they saw right through it." The Prius on guard finally speaks. When Maria side eyes him, he continues. "What? It's true. You all know it and I won't get fired just for saying so."

"Yeah but the opposite side might ask for an appeal-" Maria starts.

"So? That judge won't grant it." He interrupts , and Maria shrugs like 'you may be right''.

"Well regardless-" Her phone rings. Instantly, the client stops breathing- because we all know what that phone call means before she says it. "They've reached a verdict. We're needed back in ten minutes."

The prison guard walks around to remove the client's leg shackle and return to handcuffs. Maria slaps over a hundred USD worth of colones down without counting; and stands up. I'm the last, but I was busy looking around.

Though this doesn't affect me in any way, the car ride feels like it takes forever. The client is on the edge of hyperventilating, and gets worse when we arrive. I could watch the involuntarily fast rise and fall of her chest if I wanted to, that's how bad it is.

On the way to the room, we run into the motherfucker.

"Good luck in there, you fucking-"

"Hey. Let's not. He's not worth it." The prison guard says, trying to stop her from doing something she'll regret.

"You're right. But she was." She replies in reference to her friend. Though I don't know either of them, I can't help but root for her.

Her getting off with no charges would be the smallest victory.

Two minutes later, we're all in our places. The judge takes a bit longer. She pushes her glasses up on her nose and begins.

"Does the jury have a verdict?"

"Yes.... We do your honor." The closest one to her says, standing up.

"And the verdict has been mutually agreed on by each member of said jury?"

"Yes, your honor." They say in unison.

"Okay then- what is said verdict?" She asks.

The standing juror pushes her hair behind her ears, glancing around the room and then to her fellow members. "We the jury..... find Ms.Rose.....not guilty."