Conflict of Interest

7. Pre-Trial

“Are you really blowing me off for lunch again?” Isabelle asked Regina indignantly. “I haven’t seen you anywhere other than this dinky office of yours in the last month!”

A month. That’s how long it has been since Harry Foster had placed Steinberg’s case on her desk, drowning her in a pile of work, making her hope for a less busy future, and throwing her face to face with a charming, arrogant bastard who,  for the past month, refused to leave her thoughts. It had been two weeks since her interview fiasco, and either one of them was refusing to make any sort of amends. They had exchanged several dry, straight-to-business calls, mainly discussing defense witnesses and what exactly was going to occur at the trial.

“Earth to Regina!” Her friend quipped impatiently.

“Hmm?” She responded absentmindedly.

“Lunch? Today? Are you even hearing me?”

“No, no, and yes, respectively,” Regina responded to all of her questions, “I have a pre-trial conference with McIntyre about the Steinberg case in thirty minutes, and I have to figure out something to say that will make it look like I have a defence that will actually stand in court.”

“As in Paul McIntyre?” Isabelle said, completely ignoring the rest of her tirade. ”He’s freaking edible! If I were you, I’d really be figuring out how to give that hair of yours some more volume rather than whatever you’re concerned about.”

”Of course you would be,” Regina scoffed, “but it just so happens that I’m not interested in arrogant pricks who think they’re the salt of the Earth.”

“Major understatement.” Isabelle smirked. “From what I’ve seen in the past four years, you’re not interested in men as a species.”

Regina narrowed her eyes playfully. “Why are you in my office again?”

“I’m leaving now. And you owe me lunch tomorrow. If you bail, I’m hunting you down.”

Regina chuckled at her friend’s quasi-childish antics as the door closed. She pulled a granola bar out of her desk drawer and wolfed it down, letting that suffice as her lunch. For the next twenty minutes, she pored over the documents on her desk, constructing her speech and her witness profiles in her head. Closing the files and slipping them into her briefcase, she stood up, making her way to the washroom. She frowned at the dark bags that seemed to be a permanent fixture under her eyes both from the lack of sleep and the stiff air of her office, and patted on yet another layer of concealer before exiting the office and making the short drive to the courthouse.

She waved to the security guards in greeting before making her way to one of the smaller court rooms. The pre-trial conference was conducted in front of a judge by her and the District Attorney. Thankfully, her client did not have to be present – she wasn’t sure she could interact with Damon without shooting him a venomous look or two. When she opened the door, she found herself face to face with the judge and Paul, both of whom were already in their seats waiting for her.

“Good morning, Your Honor.” Regina said, bowing slightly as per the court’s custom.

“Regina, how nice of you to join us.” She grinned internally, locking eyes with the man who she would definitely call her favorite judge. He was an elderly man of about sixty-five, and was known for his rate of acquittals – especially where Regina’s clients were concerned. He seemed to enjoy her cheek and the fact that she was willing to take on burdens far above what most other young women would. During her four years representing criminals and innocents in this court, she could remember only one instance where a client of hers was convicted and given a full penalty – and that man was so deeply guilty that even Regina was glad that he landed behind bars for quite some time.