Legal Affairs

7

I jolt awake well before my alarm, the adrenaline already coursing through me. Today's court session isn't just another day in the office; it's the gladiator arena and I'm ready to battle. My ritual pre-court Beyoncé jam session pumps through the speakers as I review Jim Anwir's fraud case one last time. I've handled bigger fish than him before breakfast.

The thought of breakfast makes my stomach growl, but the last thing I have time for is a sit-down meal. I snatch the banana and apple sitting on my desk. My usual breakfast on the go.

The courthouse looms large as I push through its doors, the morning light casting long shadows over the polished marble floors that echo under my determined steps. This place, with its towering columns and expansive ceilings, always feels like stepping onto a stage. And today, I'm the lead.

Courtroom 403 is familiar territory, but the stakes are higher with Wilde's buddy counting on me. I swear, I'm collecting more favors for Mr. Wilde than I have shoes—and that's saying something.

"Miss Armstrong," He said when giving me and Mr. Waterford the case, "I know this is a lot to take in, but if you do well on this case, who knows where this can lead?"

His words echo in my head. A promotion? A partnership? Or simply the respect that should've come from the beginning.

As I enter the courtroom, the stern face of Judge Green meets mine. If anyone could give a glacier a run for its money, it's him. I set up at the defense table, laying out my arsenal of legal documents with the precision of a surgeon.

Then, that grating Southern drawl slinks into my ears. "Noah."

I spin on my heel to face Doris McAllister. Impeccably dressed in a power suit that screams money, her blonde hair doesn't have a strand out of place. Her makeup is caked at her crowsfeet, her cheeks rouged, and her lips glossed. A fake smile paints her face.

"Doris," I say, giving her a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. I brush past her, letting my shoulder lightly bump hers. "Always a pleasure."

She falls into step beside me, her perfume a cloying cloud of entitlement. "I didn't realize you'd be handling the case."

"Why wouldn't I be?" I reply, stopping to face her.

"It's just that, you're not a white man. It's a pretty big case, wouldn't want you to bite off more than you can chew," she smirks.

I stop and face her, leaning in so only she can hear. "Doris, the only thing I'm in danger of is splashing a bit of this courtroom drama on your pristine suit. You might want to step back."

Her smile tightens, and she recoils as if I've actually splashed her. "Careful, Noah. Your sharp tongue might cut someone."

"Oh, it cuts. Just not those who don't step into its path." I turn on my heel and head back to my table, feeling her eyes burning into my back.

As I make my final preparations, Jim Anwir leans over, his polished exterior barely disguising the entitlement he carries like a second skin. "Where's the other guy?" he asks, his voice casual as he fiddles with the ring on his finger.

"He... got sick," I respond with a smoothness practiced over years in courtrooms.

"Oh, isn't he in charge?" Jim continues, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

I feel a flicker of irritation but keep my composure. "No, he's actually my assistant," I clarify, injecting a bit of sharpness into my tone to cut through any further assumptions.

"Wait really, but you're like bl—" Jim starts again, but before he can finish, the bailiff's booming voice fills the room, a timely interruption that I'm more than grateful for.

"All rise." The courtroom shuffles to its feet as the session is about to start, thankfully sparing me from having to hear the rest of Jim's sentence.

The judge, a stern figure with a reputation for being as tough as old boot leather, takes his seat and motions for everyone else to do the same. "Court is now in session," Judge Green announces, his voice gravelly and imposing. He glances over his glasses, giving me a nod to proceed.

I stand, my heels clicking confidently on the wood floor as I approach the podium. I hate that I'm defending a man like Jim Anwir, but it's my job, and I'm damn good at it. I adjust my glasses, I didn't feel like wearing my contacts today. 

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," I begin, my voice carrying across the room, "today we peel back the layers of a case that's been marred by misconception and misdirection."

I pause for effect, locking eyes with a few of the jurors. "You will be presented with facts twisted by the prosecution, but it is your duty to sift through the hyperbole and uncover the truth."

Turning slightly, I shoot a quick glance at Doris McAllister, whose presence is as grating as fingernails on chalkboard. "And while some may rely on theatrics," I say, a subtle nod to Doris, "I intend to rely on evidence and reason."

Judge Green raises an eyebrow, but I can tell he's intrigued. I turn back to the jury, my gaze firm and unwavering. "Mr. Anwir stands accused of fraud, yet when we dig deeper, we find a narrative constructed not from certainty, but from assumption. Today, I ask you to question, to challenge, and to ultimately see the difference between possibility and proof."

Doris is scribbling furiously now, her earlier confidence possibly shaken by my assertive start. Good. Let her scribble.

"As we proceed," I continue, turning to point a slender finger at the evidence board, a tactic I know captivates and commands attention, "keep an open mind. Look beyond the surface because the truth is rarely as simple as it seems."

Judge Green nods slightly, perhaps in respect, as I conclude my opening with a sharp, "Thank you."

I walk back to my table, my steps deliberate, feeling every eye in the courtroom following me. This might be Jim Anwir's trial, but today, it's my courtroom. And I'm not just here to defend—I'm here to dominate.

And as I sit, smoothing my skirt, I can't help but feel a spark of satisfaction. Let the games begin.