𝗙𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗮 𝗨𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲.
𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐞
I am the judge, the jury, and the executioner.
Francesca "Frank" Monroe. One of the most successful criminal defense attorneys in the history of Illinois. The woman everyon...
"We kill everybody, my dear. Some with bullets, some with words, and everybody with our deeds. We drive people into their graves, and neither see it nor feel it."
- Maxim Gorky
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I stood confidently in front of the jury, hands resting calmly on the podium, cool as ever. I'd been prepping for this moment for months—digging through evidence, tearing apart testimonies, building an airtight case. And frankly, I was ready to wrap this circus up and move on to cases that actually deserved my time.
The courtroom was buzzing—reporters foaming at the mouth for their next headline, spectators craning their necks to get a good look at Taylor Williams. He stood there, looking bored as hell, like he had better places to be. Not a great look for a guy on trial for rape and murder, and we fucking talked about this. Meanwhile, the public wanted blood. They didn't care about evidence, they wanted a villain. And they decided it was him.
Taylor Williams. Twenty-four. Heir to Williams Software. And an orphan—probably the only reason I even entertained this case. People like him get eaten alive. And I didn't do charity cases, but I also didn't let the system railroad a guy just because he's rich and convenient.
Before I even considered defending him, I had my team rip through every angle of this case. And what they'd found was fucking worth the trouble. The prosecution's story was full of holes. The victim's sister was a drug addict. Her husband was a money-hungry, backstabbing leech. And they just happened to pin the crime on the rich kid? Yeah, okay.
The trial had reached its boiling point. Harkins, the prosecutor, wrapped up his closing statement, voice all wobbly and full of righteous bullshit. Then, for his grand finale, he pointed at Taylor like a bad actor in a courtroom drama.
"You only have to remember one thing—he's guilty."
He sat down like he'd just dropped the mic. Cute.
The room was thick with tension. All eyes swung to me.
I stood, buttoned my suit, and took my time walking to the center. If they wanted a show, I was about to give them one.
"Your Honor, members of the jury," I started, voice smooth, controlled. "We all know why we're here. We all know the stakes. My client, Taylor Williams, is accused of the worst crimes imaginable. But let's be real—this case isn't about truth. It's about selling you a story."
I glanced at Taylor, who sat stiff as a board, looking like he hadn't breathed in the last five minutes. I gave him a quick nod before turning back to the jury.
"The prosecutor said you only need to remember one thing. And he's right. But it's not guilt." I paused, letting that sink in. "It's reasonable doubt. And there's plenty of it."
