Текст книги "Friction"

Автор книги: Sawyer Bennett

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CHAPTER 22

REEVE

This morning I was awake long before the sun rose, and long before Leary stirred next to me. Normally she’s the early riser, the one pushing me out of bed.

I didn’t get up, though.

Instead, I loosened my hold around her. Her face was turned so her cheek was pressed into my chest. One arm was curled under her, the other slung over my waist. I inched backward a bit and stared at her shadowy form in the gloom of the predawn hours.

As the sun rose, I watched as her features came into focus. The way her face was utterly relaxed, her lips slightly parted as she slept, her hair falling forward over her right eye. I tentatively reached up, pushed it back with my fingertips so I could have a completely unobstructed view of her. When my skin touched hers, I reveled in the sensation.

Then my chest squeezed in anxiety, as I was afraid our time was almost up.

I acted then on pure need, pulling her back against me. She moaned in her sleep, and when my lips pressed against hers, she opened her eyes to blink at me.

I felt the curve of her mouth against mine as it went from relaxed slumber to a welcoming smile.

I kissed her passionately, making sure she understood that this was far more than just a good-morning kiss. This had the potential to be a good-bye kiss, so I didn’t hold a fucking thing back. I poured everything that I am and will ever be into the kiss, hoping it would speak volumes and she wouldn’t doubt me later.

Kissing turned to stroking. Soft pants turned to rough gasps.

My hands wandered across her skin while hers did the same to me.

We made out like two teenagers in the backseat of a car on prom night, and when I couldn’t stand it anymore, I rolled her onto her back, pushed in between her legs and made love to her.

She arched her back, giving me access to her slender neck, where I murmured gentle words against her skin while I pumped slowly in and out of her. It was beautiful and damning all at once. The memory of how I made love to her will haunt me, I’m sure.

I’ll never forget how when I came inside her, she moaned, “I adore you.”

I answered her, “And I you,” and then I kissed her again.

“Okay, Mr. Holloway, Miss Michaels, it appears you both have concluded your cases before this jury. Are there any other matters we need to handle before we move on?”

I jerked and blinked my eyes as Judge Henry’s words penetrated my poignant memories of this morning. Leary stood up from her table and answered, “No, Your Honor. I believe that’s everything.”

Of course, she would think that’s everything. Last night she chattered at me like a little puppy, happy and relieved that all of the evidence was finished. Her case was wrapped up, and it took just a little more than three days for me to put on my expert witnesses. They, of course, gave testimony that was completely contradictory to Leary’s expert witnesses. They didn’t come off well because they weren’t as qualified and there was personal bias. I rested my case late yesterday afternoon, and Judge Henry adjourned us until this morning.

Rising slowly from my chair, my chest cramped with fear, I button my suit coat and say, “Your Honor, the defense actually has two more witnesses to call to the stand. I expect their testimony won’t take very long.”

“I’m going to have to object,” Leary says, and I don’t look over at her. I can hear the shock in her voice. “There are no other witnesses listed on the pretrial order.”

“May we approach the bench?” I ask Judge Henry, and he waves us both forward.

Leary’s head turns toward me as we both slide out from behind our tables, but I can’t even look her in the eye. Instead, I lower my gaze to the floor and motion with my hand for her to precede me.

I follow her up to the judge’s bench, feeling like I’m walking to my own execution.

“What’s this about?” Judge Henry asks me in a low whisper when we’re both standing in front of him.

“I have two rebuttal witnesses,” I murmur, the words tasting like ashes on my tongue.

“Rebuttal to what?” Leary hisses.

I still refuse to meet her gaze and instead look at Judge Henry. “Jenna LaPietra answered my requests for admissions, which were filed with the court and admitted into evidence yesterday. Request number nineteen specifically asked her to admit or deny if she had solicited and performed sexual acts on the customers in exchange for money. She denied the request. My two witnesses are prepared to offer evidence to rebut that.”

Leary is surprisingly calm when she says, “Your Honor, I object. This is highly inflammatory and prejudicial. On top of that, it’s absolutely irrelevant. It has nothing to do with the facts of this case, and Mr. Holloway is doing this to slander my client in front of the jury.”

“It’s relevant, Your Honor,” I say flatly. “It not only goes to her character but it also goes to her veracity. The jury has the right to judge those traits when determining whether or not to give credence to her testimony.”

Judge Henry looks back and forth between Leary and me while he considers our arguments. Finally, he gives a regretful sigh and says, “I’m going to allow the witnesses—”

“But Your Honor,” Leary pleads, and I hear panic in her voice.

“Your objection is noted, Miss Michaels. It’s now an issue for appeal. The testimony will be allowed. But Mr. Holloway, keep it narrow and do not attempt to go into sordid details. You’re only offering this evidence to rebut her denial of your request for admission.”

“Yes, sir,” I say quietly, not feeling like I’ve won a damn thing. Doesn’t matter if I keep the questions short and limited—the damage to Jenna and her case will have the force of a sonic boom.

We turn away from the bench, and again, I don’t have the courage to look at Leary. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll drop to my knees in front of the judge and the jury and beg her forgiveness.

Looking out into the gallery, I see the two witnesses I plan to call. The investigator originally interviewed three witnesses, but one of them called me just last night and left a voice mail that said she wasn’t going to show up. Her message was short and cryptic, but essentially she said, “I just can’t go through with it.” I took that to mean that she didn’t want any hand in the sordid actions of calling a woman a whore in front of a group of people.

Didn’t matter. Two witnesses are just as effective as three.

When I get back to my table, I say, “Your Honor, the defendant calls Holly Wharles to the stand.”

Then I bite the bullet and I do it.

I take a quick glance over at Leary.

Her back is to me and she’s leaning in toward Jenna, whispering into her ear. Her arm rests across Jenna’s back, and her hand is squeezing her shoulder. I can’t see Leary’s face, but Jenna raises her eyes and looks at me directly over Leary’s shoulder.

They’re filled with tears and my heart cracks farther open while my stomach cramps in shame. I swivel my head to look behind me at Tom Collier, sitting in the first row. His face is triumphant and filled with haughtiness. I look back to the jury, and they all watch Holly Wharles as she comes through the low swinging gate and walks toward the witness stand.

The clerk puts her under oath, she takes a seat, and I start to destroy Leary’s case by destroying the credibility of the plaintiff.

Easy as pie.

If I’ve calculated correctly, Leary has about a forty-five-minute head start on me, and I can’t imagine she’d be anywhere else other than her home. I’m prepared to grovel mightily.

The testimony of my rebuttal witnesses didn’t take long, and because they were a surprise, Leary wasn’t able to do an effective cross-examination. They were powerfully effective, and the jury was highly interested in what they had to say.

The minute they both testified, the jurors’ sympathetic looks toward Jenna turned skeptical and condemning. I doubted at this point that any of them remembered what a douche my client was.

Judge Henry insisted on dismissing the jurors and giving them a bit of a long weekend since it was just before lunch on Friday. He reasoned that closing arguments would take at least half a day, and he didn’t want the jury having to wait a weekend to begin deliberations. So instead, Leary and I stayed in the courtroom, and Judge Henry conducted the charge conference where we went over the jury instructions, that body of law that the judge will read to the jury to help guide them through their deliberations.

After that was finished, Judge Henry dismissed us and Leary jetted out of the courtroom. I went immediately to my law firm, where as I expected, Kratzenburg and Collier were in Kratzenburg’s office drinking scotch and gloating over those last two witnesses. Both of them were riding high, like hunters off a fresh kill.

I, on the other hand, was worried sick about Leary as well as Jenna. I’d come to admire her through the course of this case, and I hadn’t realized how much it would affect me when I hurt her.

Just before I entered Gill’s office, I heard Tom say, “I’m glad we sent the investigator back out to push at those witnesses.”

“Yeah, well . . . let’s keep that between us,” Kratzenburg said with a chuckle.

I gave a light knock on the door to announce my presence, and both men spun toward me.

“Reeve, you are a fucking rock star,” Kratzenburg cackled when I stepped into his office. “Come have a drink with us to celebrate.”

Collier just smirked at me. My fingers curled tightly into my palms, balling into fists that wanted to punch the ever-loving fuck out of his smug face.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my key chain. Calmly removing one from the coil, I stepped forward and laid it on Kratzenburg’s desk. “Consider this my notice. I quit.”

Gill’s eyes rounded and his mouth popped open in surprise. “You quit?”

“I quit,” I repeated. “I’m going to clear out my office now.”

I turned to leave, but Gill snapped out of his fogged surprise. “You can’t quit. You’re lead counsel in this case. You have a duty to show up and finish this.”

Turning back around, I say, “I don’t owe you shit. You’ve sat through this trial with me. You can handle the closing arguments.”

Realizing that I was dead serious, Gill tried another tack. “I don’t understand, Reeve. You did brilliantly. I’m sure you’ll get a raise after this. Why would you want to quit the firm and this case?”

All of the anxiety, guilt, and sadness permeating my being morphed in a white-hot flash. It curled inward and when it exploded out, it was molten rage. I stalked around his desk, got right in his face, and snarled, “You want to know why I quit? I quit because you and your greedy, scum-sucking clients took pleasure today in hurting a woman whose worst crime was loving her son so much she’d do anything to protect him. You make me sick, and working for you makes me sick. It’s a stain on my soul I can’t bear anymore, so that’s why I quit.”

I didn’t give him a chance to respond. I didn’t look at Tom Collier, preferring to let time and distance hopefully start to fade him from my memory. I turned away and slammed out of his office, going to my own to pack up my belongings. I was out of there in fifteen minutes flat.

Pulling up in front of Leary’s house, I see her garage door down but a black Mercedes sedan in the driveway. If I have to take an educated guess, Ford is in the house with her right now, marveling over my evil ways.

I walk up to Leary’s front door. Before I can clear the top porch step, it opens and Ford is indeed standing there with his arms across his chest. I expect him to be thundering at me with rage, but his eyes are knowing and sad.

“She doesn’t want to see you,” he says softly.

“She needs to let me explain,” I counter as I take a step closer. Past his shoulder, I can see the inside of Leary’s house . . . her living room, part of her sunroom on the back . . . but no Leary.

“She doesn’t want to hear it,” Ford says evenly.

“Come on, man,” I plead with him. “I just need a few minutes. I have to tell her—”

A delicate hand comes around Ford’s shoulder, pushing him to the side. Leary appears from behind him, dressed in a pair of black yoga pants and a T-shirt. Her eyes are bleak and red tinged.

“Leary—” I start out, but she cuts me off.

Her voice is deadly calm. “Get off my porch. Get in your car and drive away. Don’t ever contact me again.”

She slowly turns away and starts walking back into her living room. Her shoulders are sagging, and from this angle, it looks like she’s aged a hundred years.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, needing to get the words out while she can still hear them. “I’m sorry for what happened. I didn’t have a choice, and you have to believe me, it killed me to do that.”

Leary stops for a moment. When she turns back to look at me, her eyes are blazing in fury. She takes two steps back up to the door and pushes Ford even farther out of the way. “You’re sorry?” she whispers with barely controlled rage.

“Yes,” I say emphatically.

“What exactly are you sorry for, Reeve?” she asks sarcastically. “For ruining a beautiful woman who did nothing to deserve the shit storm you just piled on her? Or are you sorry because you didn’t have the balls to prevent that shit storm?”

“My hands were tied,” I grit out.

“Bullshit,” she snarls as she steps out onto the front porch and stands on her tiptoes to get in my face. “You had a choice.”

“Fine. I had a choice. I chose to stay within the boundaries of the law,” I defend myself, even though it feels so very wrong to do.

I expect her to retaliate. To attack. To call me every dirty name in the book, and hell, for good measure, she might as well slap the shit out of me.

Instead, my knees nearly buckle when tears fill her eyes and her chin starts to tremble. “You chose to be a coward,” she says as teardrops fall, leaving silvery trails down her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, she blinks her eyes and rubs the back of her hand over her cheeks to dry them. “Now, get off my property and please don’t bother me again.”

“You said you wouldn’t hold my job against me,” I say forcefully, trying to keep dialogue open. “You promised.”

More tears spill, sticking in her lashes and cascading down her cheeks. “I did,” she says quietly, her words filled with pain. “And I’m apparently breaking that promise right now. But I made that promise before you gave me your heart and I gave you mine. I didn’t take into consideration how badly you could hurt me.”

“I didn’t do this to you, Leary. I did my job. I did this to your case.”

Leary gives me a sad smile, shaking her head. “Do you really believe that, Reeve? Knowing my background and what this all meant to me, did you really not think this would hurt me personally?”

I close my eyes slowly, telling myself this is a bad dream. I close my eyes because I can’t stand to see the accusation in hers, and because I know she’s right. I did this knowing she was going to get personally hurt, and I could have prevented it. I could have stopped all of this by being truthful with her from the beginning. I could have told her about those witnesses. Yes, it would have crossed an ethical line, but why didn’t I see it then the way I see it now? That Leary would have been worth risking my career. She was more important than my ethics or my law license.

I need to let her know that, but when I open my eyes to tell her what a fool I’ve been, she’s gone. Ford is still standing there, though, looking surprisingly sympathetic.

I can’t stand the look. It merely confirms what Leary just told me—it’s over between us.

I spin on my heel and lumber down her porch steps. When I reach my car door, I turn and see Ford following me. He clearly has something to say, so I just stare at him.

“Listen,” he says carefully. “I’m sorry . . . for both of you. I know you had something special.”

“Apparently not that special,” I murmur as I look back toward her house, knowing that I’m the one who failed to make the choice that would have preserved it. “Do you think I chose wrong?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” he says, doing nothing to inflame or assuage my guilt. “But do me a favor—Monday in court, don’t try to harass her into talking to you. You know the chances of her winning are very low now, and it’s going to be hard on her as it is. Just keep your distance, okay?”

I open my car door and step into the driver’s side. Shooting him a quick look, I say, “I won’t be there. I quit Battle Carnes this afternoon after court was over. Kratzenburg will finish up the trial.”

Sitting down in the driver’s seat, I close the door and take a quick glance at Ford. He’s staring at me thoughtfully, both of his hands tucked into his pockets. Giving me a nod of his head, he turns away and heads back toward Leary’s porch.

As soon as I back out of the driveway and put the car in drive, I pull my phone out. I might have lost Leary for good, but maybe I can still do something to help salvage her case.

I dial Rhonda Valasquez’s number again. As per usual, it goes right to voice mail, and I don’t hesitate in my message.

“Miss Valasquez, this is Reeve Holloway again. I wanted you to know that I quit working at Battle Carnes today. I no longer represent Dr. Summerland. I really need to talk to you about this case. It’s taken a bad turn, and if there’s anything you can do to help Jenna LaPietra, I need you to do it. I am begging you to call me. Please.”

Hanging up my phone, I drive back home. There’s nothing to do but wait and hope that she calls me back, and then hope that she has something worthwhile to tell me.

CHAPTER 23

LEARY

“Are we ready to begin?” Judge Henry asks affably from up on his perch.

I give him a confident smile. “The plaintiff is ready, Your Honor.”

Turning my gaze, I look over at the defense table. I knew Reeve wouldn’t be sitting there this Monday morning—Ford told me that he quit Battle Carnes. This surprised me, but past that, I didn’t have time to give any credence to the feelings that welled up within me at the news. Instead, I tried to numb myself to Reeve and everything that we had.

Gill Kratzenburg showed up this morning, and we met in the judge’s chambers. He advised Judge Henry that Mr. Holloway would not be making further appearances and that he would handle the remainder of the case. Judge Henry was surprised, and I managed to look the same myself. Regardless, there was no sense in holding up the show.

Kratzenburg stands up. “The defendant is ready.”

“Then let’s move on to closing arguments,” Judge Henry says and then turns to the bailiff. “You can bring the jury in.”

“Your Honor,” I butt in politely, “I would respectfully request that you reopen evidence and allow the plaintiff to call one rebuttal witness.”

Kratzenburg explodes. “I object, Your Honor.”

“Of course you do,” Judge Henry says drily as he looks at Gill in boredom. “Just as Miss Michaels objected to your rebuttal witnesses.” Turning his eyes to me, he pushes, “Tell me what you have, Miss Michaels.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be calling Miss Rhonda Valasquez to the stand. She was one of two surgical nurses who assisted Dr. Summerland during Jenna’s surgery. She’ll be offering rebuttal evidence to Dr. Summerland’s testimony here during the trial, as well as to some statements he made to me in his deposition, which I admitted into evidence as Plaintiff’s exhibit number twenty-four.”

Judge Henry nods and says, “I’ll allow it. Let’s call the jury in, and then you can call your witness.”

As I sit in my chair, I watch as Gill Kratzenburg leans over toward Dr. Summerland, who looks positively green right now. He knows exactly why I’m calling Rhonda Valasquez to the stand, and I’d bet he’d sell his right kidney to be anywhere but here in this courtroom.

I’d like to say she’s a gift from God, but she’s actually a gift from Reeve. I was sitting in my living room on Sunday afternoon, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a Stanford sweatshirt, when my doorbell rang. When I opened the door, I saw a middle-aged, heavyset woman with sandy-blonde hair and light-brown eyes. She looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Miss Michaels, my name is Rhonda Valasquez. I was one of the nurses involved with your client’s surgery. I have something important to tell you.”

My jaw dropped and I sort of stuttered when I asked, “I don’t understand. How did you find my house?”

“Reeve Holloway contacted me yesterday. He thinks I can help your case. I know I can.”

And just like that, Jenna’s case was saved.

Rhonda and I talked for three hours on Sunday afternoon, and she agreed to testify this morning. She wasn’t hesitant at all, only claiming hesitancy in talking to Reeve, who’d been trying to contact her for weeks. She confessed she finally broke down when he left her a message on Friday saying he was no longer working for Dr. Summerland.

The door to the jury room opens and I wait for them all to file in. None of them look toward Jenna and me. All rapport that I established over the last few weeks was obliterated by Reeve’s rebuttal witnesses last Friday.

It was time to change that.

Judge Henry explains to the jury that I have a rebuttal witness, and then he turns to me. “The jury is with the plaintiff, Miss Michaels.”

Standing from my chair, I say, “I’d like to call Rhonda Valasquez to the stand.”

She looks professional in her navy-blue-and-gold-checked dress. Her hair is pulled up into a smart bun, and she’s wearing eyeglasses that she didn’t have on yesterday at my house.

After she’s sworn in, I ask, “Would you please introduce yourself to the jury?”

I instructed her to always make eye contact with the jury, and she remembers well. Turning to them, she says, “My name is Rhonda Valasquez. I’m a registered nurse.”

“And were you present during the breast-reduction surgery Dr. Summerland performed on Jenna LaPietra?” I ask.

“I was,” she responds.

“As part of your duties, do you make entries into the medical records?”

“Yes. There are usually two surgical nurses. One of us usually provides immediate assistance to the surgeon, and the other may document things in the chart as they occur.”

I stand up from my chair. “May I approach, Your Honor?”

Judge Henry waves me forward and I walk up to Rhonda. “I’m handing you what’s been marked as Plaintiff’s exhibit number thirty-eight. Can you identify that for the jury?”

Rhonda takes the paper and looks at it briefly. “That’s a page from the nurses’ notes that were created during the surgery.”

“And is that your handwriting?”

“No. That’s the other nurse’s handwriting. I was doing the main assistance, and she was responsible for charting.”

Leaning over the edge of the witness box, I point to the middle of the note. “Right there it says, ‘12:18 p.m., Dr. S and R.V. step out.’ What does that mean?”

Rhonda looks over to the jury. “At 12:18 p.m., both Dr. Summerland and I stepped out of the operating room together.”

I can hear the jury muttering, completely taken with this information.

“And right below that?” I ask as I point back to the note.

“It says, ‘12:32 p.m., Dr. S back. Surg in progress,’” she supplies to the jury.

“So, the notes reflect that you and Dr. Summerland left the operating room together, is that correct?”

“That’s correct,” she says calmly.

“Isn’t that unusual?” I ask curiously.

“It is,” she says.

I glance quickly over at the jury. They’re all leaning forward, completely entranced with Rhonda’s testimony. I can practically see the thoughts racing through their gazes.

Where did they go?

What were they doing?

Was something illicit going on?

It’s time to let them in on the secret.

“Miss Valasquez, why did you two leave the operating room together?”

Rhonda takes a deep breath and turns to the jury. “I noticed Dr. Summerland’s hands were shaking quite badly as he started the procedure. I asked him once if he was okay, and he told me he was fine. It seemed to stop for a few moments, but then his hands started shaking again.”

“What did you do?” I prompt.

“I asked him again if he was okay, and this time he yelled at me to mind my own business.”

A ripple of awkward movement comes from the jury as they shift and adjust in their seats.

“Did he continue to operate?” I ask her.

“He did,” Rhonda says, “but I was extremely worried. His incision was irregular and I knew he wasn’t physically able to perform surgery. So I told him that exactly.”

“What was his reaction?” I ask softly.

“He was extremely angry. He barked orders at the anesthesiologist to monitor Jenna and that he’d be back. Then he ordered me out of the room with him.”

“And did you go?”

“I did. I followed him out and into the scrub room.”

“What happened?”

“He pulled off his gloves first, then his surgical mask, and started to dress me down for calling his capabilities into question in front of the other operating-room occupants. And that’s when I finally realized why he was shaking.”

This is a carefully orchestrated statement by Rhonda. We worked on her testimony for a long time yesterday, and I wanted the jury hanging on her every word.

“Please tell the jury what you observed,” I gently command her.

“I smelled alcohol,” she says matter-of-factly, and I hear a collective inhale from the jury. “It was strong. I’m not sure if he’d been drinking before the surgery, or if it was left over from the night before, but it was enough so I could smell it on his breath from a few feet away.”

“What happened next?” I prod her further.

“He ordered me out of the surgical suite. Told me he was reporting me for insubordination.”

“And did you leave?”

“I did,” she says firmly. “And I went straight to my supervising nurse to report what happened.”

“What did she do?”

“She said she would handle it. Told me to go home for the day and she’d call me later.”

“And did she handle the situation?” I ask, taking a quick peek over at the jury. Their stares are all riveted on Rhonda.

“I’m thinking not,” Rhonda says with derision. “The hospital administrator called me that night and told me my job was terminated.”

“Terminated?” I ask in shock, turning my face to the jury. They all swing their gazes to me, and I can see they are pissed.

“Yes,” Rhonda says quietly, and all twelve sets of eyes swing back to her. “Apparently no one confronted Dr. Summerland that day. They let him continue to operate, and the administrator called him at home that night. He denied my allegations and said I was being belligerent during the surgery, which is why he dismissed me.”

“But surely the other people in the surgical room corroborated your story,” I suggest to her. Although I know the sad answer to this already.

Rhonda shakes her head and looks at the jury with morose eyes. “They didn’t. I think they were afraid of losing their jobs. Dr. Summerland holds a lot of power at the hospital. Plus, I’m not sure they smelled the alcohol the way I did. I only smelled it when he took his mask off.”

I let those last words hang in front of the jury a moment before I return to my chair behind counsel table. After I take a seat, I close my notepad and cap my pen, subtly letting the jury know that I’m just about finished.

“Miss Valasquez,” I say softly, but loud enough that the jury is with me, “is there any doubt in your mind that Dr. Summerland was impaired during that procedure?”

She shakes her head and spans her gaze across the jury box. “No. I smelled the alcohol and saw his shaking hands. His incision was irregular. I’m confident he was too impaired to be performing any type of surgery that day.”

With a grateful smile and a nod of my head, I say, “Thank you, Miss Valasquez. I don’t have any further questions.”

Their next settlement offer came about five minutes after Rhonda Valasquez left the witness stand. Gill tried to attack her credibility, tried to pawn her off as a disgruntled employee who had a bone to pick with Dr. Summerland. She handled it perfectly, stating that she actually got another job pretty quickly, one that paid better and had a better work environment. She was extremely happy to be where she was and not at all upset over being terminated.

In fact, she told Gill on cross-examination, the only thing that did upset her was that no one bothered to stop the surgery so that Jenna wouldn’t be harmed. That effectively shut Gill up—he knew he wouldn’t be able to tarnish her.

Jenna and I spent a lot of time discussing the offer. They laid a million dollars on the table, and it wasn’t something to sneeze at. I was hesitant in turning our noses up at it, because although I could tell the jury was now livid with Dr. Summerland, I couldn’t be sure if they held anything against Jenna.

Ultimately, it was Jenna who decided not to take the money and let the jury decide her fate. I have no clue if it’s right or wrong, but the decision is made and I need to put on my best performance right now.

After conveying to Gill that we’re declining to settle, I run to the ladies’ room to collect myself. Within five minutes I’ll be back up before the jury giving the most important closing argument of my life. I won’t see a dime of any money, don’t give a shit about getting any accolades. My only thought as I stare in the mirror is trying to persuade twelve strangers to make this right for Jenna.

I wash my hands, dab on some lip gloss, and walk out.

Ford is waiting for me in the hallway, casually standing a few paces away from the bathrooms, checking his phone for messages. He hears me and his head pops up.

“You ready?” he asks with an encouraging smile.

Smoothing down my skirt, I walk toward him. “Yeah. Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Ford reaches a hand out and squeezes my shoulder. “Midge sent me over to watch and be your moral support. She wanted to be here, but you know . . . defeats her whole recluse thing.”

I give a snort of laughter, grateful for Ford’s humor. “I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”

Turning, Ford and I walk toward the courtroom doors. “Rhonda’s testimony was fantastic,” he says. “It’s got the case back on track. You were right in turning down the million.”

“You think her testimony was enough?” I ask curiously as he holds open one of the swinging doors for me. I can only hope it was enough to overcome the damage done by Reeve’s rebuttal witnesses—thinking of them still burns me up.