Superficial (DE)

Seventeen.

"All rise for the jury!"

Cerise rose from her seat, smoothing over her beige midi pencil skirt as she followed in suit with the rest of the court room. A randomly selected pool of twelve individuals entered the court room and filed into the jury box, all with solemn, cold expressions.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, the tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife— a hypothetical knife of course. On one side of the courtroom sat members of the defendants family and on the other side the mourning victims family.

Cerise's client glanced over his shoulder at her with an unsure expression, his future in the hands of twelve strangers— thirteen including Cerise.

Her client, a young black man in his mid twenties by the name of Kareem; a hard working union construction worker and a father of two little girls being charged with first degree murder for firing shots at a man who tried to run him over in a dispute.

While Cerise gets to go home after this, this jury verdict is the difference between getting to go home with his girls or spending the next twenty years behind bars. Scared shitless herself, Cerise was confident in the time and attention to detail she put into her defense and instead, offered a soft smile of assurance before focusing her attention back to the judge.

Kareem clenched his jaw tightly, looking down at his polished dress shoes taking a deep breath and exhaling before glancing behind him at his two clueless little girls who sat front row with their grandmother— his mother. His heart raced in his chest, nervously. Damp patches of perspiration began to form on the underarm part of his shirt. He felt like it was his judgment day and he wasn't even dead yet.

"We the jury find Kareem Muhammad not guilty on grounds of self defense,"

Kareem's family and friends immediately erupted in cheer behind them, Rakeem himself letting out a breath of air he'd seemed to be holding in all morning— a feeling of relief and weight being lifted from his shoulders.

Cerise herself feeling the same weight being lifted— the pressure to win. She almost couldn't even believe it, having to remind herself to close her mouth as it fell slightly ajar at the revelation of the verdict— she'd won, her first win.

"Ms. Harvey, Ms. Harvey— how are you?" A reporter asked as Cerise pushed out of the courthouse doors. This case was no where near as high profile as Brandon's so the infamous courthouse steps weren't a chaotic mosh pit like normal. Instead, there was only one reporter, a young woman seemingly close to Cerise's age with a voice recorder and a tablet as journals and pens were now a thing of the past.

Normally, Cerise would decline an interview in fear of her anxiety giving herself a fit of word vomit and making her embarrass herself. She'd only intended on surviving in this world off being a part time lawyer, part time stay-at-home daughter. Now, she were three-fourths lawyer, one-fourth judicial sensation. But it was this young reporters ambitious idea to show up here alone that caught Cerise's attention.

"Hi, I'm well. How are you?" Cerise stopped and smiled, switching her heavy Birkin to the other hand.

"I'm well Ms. Harvey. My name is Megan, I'm a journalism major at NYU— I was wondering if I could have a few minutes of your time for a paper I'm writing?"

"What's the paper for?" Cerise asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's pertaining to the Sorvino Crime Family. I've been doing my research and found that your representing one of the defendants in the trial— Brandon Valentino,"

Cerise nodded slowly, listening to the young journalist speak as she read notes from her tablet.

"Could you fill me in on what's going on in the trial so far— any new information you're willing to share?" Megan asked with a meek smile, clearly nervous.