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“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said before I could change my mind. Jake nodded, and I took off down the hallway. I was nearly jogging down the marble floors and yanked the large gold handle to open the bathroom door. There were three stalls, and I dropped to my haunches to check if anyone was inside. A woman with sensible shoes was in the middle stall. I tapped my foot on the floor, waiting for her to finish, but I didn’t have much time to lose.
I went over to the window and opened it. It was too high for me to jump, so I turned over the trash can. The metal rim banged on the floor, and I jumped at the sound.
“Hey!” the lady shouted from the stall. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I said as I climbed on top of the trash can. “I just knocked over the trash.”
I heaved myself onto the windowsill and sat my butt down. Fortunately, the bathroom faced a quiet side of the building, so I spun on my rump and jumped down onto the grass below.
Oof!
I didn’t land as elegantly as I’d pictured in my mind, as I spiked myself into the ground with my stilettos and rolled onto the grass, stopped by the trunk of a nearby tree.
Ouch!
I rubbed my knees and ran back for my shoes, yanking them from the cold ground. I kept them off as I ran up the steps of the courthouse, only slipping them on when I was at the front doors.
My phone buzzed.
I’m here. Where are you?
I quickly shot a message back to my client that I would be right with him.
After smoothing down my shirt and hair, I grabbed the frigid door handle and walked inside.
I spotted my client to my right, recognizing him from the picture in his file.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Sewell. I’m Nikole Adams, your attorney.”
Mr. Sewell’s features crinkled, and his gaze kept roaming above my eyes. I wiped my forehead and showed him to the courtroom where his case would be heard.
A few minutes later, I didn’t turn around. I didn’t dare look for Jake inside the courtroom. But I knew he was here. I felt the tension in my shoulders.
I walked up to the defense’s table and sat next to my client.
I opened my files and waited for the prosecutor to state his case for no bail. When he finished, I stood with no expression on my face. “Your honor, my client has no previous record. He is an upstanding member of the community, and the prosecution’s case has only circumstantial evidence—”
“This is ridiculous, your honor. Just look at her.”
Instinctively, I flinched, taken aback by his remark. But I recovered quickly. “I’m not finished,” I said, directing my comment to the rude attorney. “I have a wiretap here,” I pulled out the transcript.
“Your honor, she cannot submit evidence at this time.”
“I can,” I informed him, “As it is an intercepted communication that exonerates my client.”
“Let me see that, Ms. Adams.” The judge waved me to approach the bench, and I handed him my notes. While he reviewed them, I snuck a peek at the prosecutor’s desk and they were arguing amongst themselves.
“Well, it appears that in light of this new evidence, I will have to dismiss the charges against Mr. Sewell. You are free to leave, sir.”
“What?” the prosecutor shouted and pushed back from the table. I picked up a stack of papers on my desk and dropped them in front of him. “I made a copy for you as well.”
His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. I held back my smile and turned to my client.
“Thank you, Ms. Adams,” he said, shaking my hand and slapping me on the shoulder.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Sewell. I’m glad I could be of service.”
He smiled. “I was a bit skeptical at first, but I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.”
