Mia
Judge Smith's gaze swept over the room."The jury finds the defendant not guilty."
A ripple of sound passed through the gallery — muffled gasps, shuffling, the creak of polished benches. I didn't let myself smile. Not yet. Not until the gavel fell.
Bang.
Now.
My lips curved into a proud, satisfied smile.
Beside me, Catherine exhaled like she hadn't taken a proper breath in hours.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice trembling. "You saved me today."
Being accused of murdering your cheating husband would do that to a person.
I nodded. No theatrics. The joy on her face was enough, the kind of soft, silent reward that made the sleepless nights, the ten empty coffee cups, and the cross-examinations a bit more worth it.
I packed up my files, clicked the clasp on my bag, and headed out of the courtroom into the afternoon sun.
****
The courthouse steps were still slick from the earlier rain, the stone glistening under gray skies. I took them slowly, heels tapping in rhythm, nerves finally uncoiling after weeks of tension.
I won.
Again.
****
"Mia! Mia!!"
I paused at the edge of the parking lot, keys in hand, heart suddenly hammering.
I turned, ready to pull out my pepper spray.
"Carlos, what the hell?!" I said.
He jogged over, waving awkwardly. His tie was crooked again. I tossed my bag into the car and crossed my arms.
"Sorry," he said, breathless. "I was trying to get your attention."
Carlos was the new intern assigned to me, which basically meant he followed me around - constantly.
"Congratulations on the win," he added quickly.
"Thanks. What is it?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, I—uh—Richard asked if you could take on another case." He said.
I blinked. "What? No. I just wrapped this one up."
"Why can't Cathy do it?" I asked.
"She's on leave. Family emergency," He answered
Of course she was. And of course Richard wouldn't bother to handle it himself.
Carlos' hand lifted to tweak his thin frame glasses, something I'd grown to notice he only did when he was uncomfortable. And if I told Richard no that would definitely put him in an uncomfortable position.
"Ugh. Just give me the file." I said.
Carlos grinned like he'd been waiting for that. "Do you want me to come with—?"
"No." I said a bit too quickly.
I snatched the folder from his hand. "I'll just stop by the station. Get a feel for how long this is going to take."
I slid into the car, dropped the folder on the passenger seat, and exhaled.
There's no rest for the wicked, they say.
Which is funny. Because I'm anything but wicked, and I haven't rested in three damn months.
I parked at the station and took a quick glance at the case file, eyes skimming over the details.
"Subject: Male, age 20
Incident: Homicide — suspected gang-related altercation"
Hold up.
Gang related altercations??
I reread the line a couple more times, it didn't change.
Richard knew my rule - I don't represent criminals, so why assign me to some gang case.
I was about to toss the file and drive off when it hit me. I was being too hasty, a couple months ago anyone would have believed Catherine was a cold hearted jealous murderer, that was what the evidence said, but now she was free.
"Innocent until proven guilty," I said to myself.
After all he was a suspect, according to the file, the cops didn't actually have anything solid. No weapon. No prior gang ties. He was probably just some kid who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I reapplied my lipstick using the rearview mirror, shut the file, and got out of the car. My eyes landed on the door to the local police station, a wave of familiar exhaustion lurked around. If I had a penny for every time I'd walked through those doors, I'd be rich.
I put my game face on and stepped through,
"Hi, Mia," the precinct receptionist, Jada, greeted.
Yeah-that was how often I was here, even the receptionist already knew my name, she let me walk in without asking why I was here. Probably because she already knew.
I found my way to Detective Harry's desk, he was on a call, smiling and joking with whoever was on the other end, when he turned and his eyes locked on me, the smile melted away.
You'd think I had brought news of a dead relative.
I greeted him with a professional smile.
"Trust me, I'm as happy to see you as you are to see me," I said.
Harry and I didn't have any actual problems. He just didn't like lawyers, according to him they were liars in suits, like cops were known for their upstanding reputation either.
"What brings you here?" He asked, voice flat.
"You have a client of mine, Luca. Marcus Luca." I said.
He rolled his eyes like he had been expecting it and grabbed his keys off his desk.
I flashed the other detectives who had been staring a tight smile and followed after him.
We got to the interrogation room and he unlocked it, pushing open the door for me, his one act of civility.
I walked in and he was about to follow behind when I held up a hand.
"Uh-uh, I need to speak with my client. Alone," I said.
"Fine," he said, letting the door click shut behind him.
Great, silence.
I turned around and he was already looking at me.
Soft eyes, beneath a mass of brown hair, looking straight at me. The case file didn't have a picture so I was a little taken aback.
He was so gentle, his eyes lowered to the ground when mine lingered too much. His back slouched with his hands tucked between his knees. He looked tired, and knowing Harry's manners I could understand why.
"Hi, I'm Mia Rhodes, I'm your lawyer," I said as I took the seat opposite him.
"Hey, I thought it was going to be Richard," he said.
His voice was low, a little rough—older than he looked.
"You know Richard?" I asked, in my opinion, knowing lawyers like Richard usually meant you got in trouble a lot, or had the kind of connections you didn't brag about.
"Yeah. My mum said a guy named Richard was coming," he answered.
So he really was dumping his work on me, that ass.
I plastered a smile on my face, "Well I'm here now, and trust me we're going to get you out of this."
His head raised high, as his hands came up from under the table. Less guarded now, or at least that's what it looked like.
I pulled out the file, "Okay. Let's start from the beginning."
"""""
He gave a small nod, sitting back with a practiced calm, like he'd rehearsed this in his head a few times.
"Where were you the night of the shooting?" I asked.
"Club called Indigo on 8th," he said smoothly. "I went to get a drink with some friends around ten, they were being asses so I left."
I scribbled it down. "Anyone see you all there?"
"The bartender, probably. I had like four drinks. And I talked to some girl... I don't remember her name though." He answered
That part felt real—the way guys talk when they think small details don't matter. Like women are background noise.
"What about the victim? Rico Mendez." I asked
His brow lifted faintly. "That's the guy who died?"
I nodded.
"No. I don't know him." A pause. "Am I supposed to?"
"I'm just covering ground." I glanced up. "You've never met him, never interacted?"
I heard the door creak open right as he was about to answer.
Really, Harry?
I turned to look and I was wrong, it wasn't Harry. A man in a sharp black suit stepped in. No smile. No words. Just a silent glance around the room before taking a stand in the far corner. A ripple of discomfort ran down my spine — the kind you get when you realize you're not alone in the dark.
His presence didn't scream for attention—but it didn't need to. He just stood there. Quiet. Unmoving. Watching.
I turned to Marcus, who had stiffened, "Friend of yours?"
"Something like that." he said.
Okay, now an audience. I was used to stuff like this. Sometimes parents didn't trust their lawyers to do their jobs so they came or sent a representative. In my opinion, it was just another hindrance.
"So about Rico Mendez?" I asked again.
Marcus shook his head, his eyes kept flickering back to the man in the corner every once in a while. "Never heard the name before they charged me."
"Walk me through how that happened," I said.
"I was walking back from the bar, I couldn't drive because I was a little drunk. And out of nowhere a cop car pulls up on me saying I was under arrest," he said.
I studied him for a second. He didn't flinch or stutter.
"Did you take your normal route back home?" I asked.
"No..." He said.
He watched me quietly, then added, "I get why this looks bad. But I swear, I didn't even hear the shot."
I tilted my head. "The report says someone saw you run after the shot was heard."
He hesitated—just a beat—and gave a short laugh. "Yeah, maybe I did hear it. I mean... it's a dangerous neighborhood, was I supposed to just stand there."
He had a point.
"No, but you're going to have to be completely honest with me. No lying, okay?" I said.
He nodded. "Okay."
"Did you try to explain your side to the cops?" I asked.
He rolled his eyes, visibly irritated, "Of course I did, but those nitwits didn't listen. How in the world do I manage to shoot this guy in the neck, leave without anyone in the neighborhood seeing me and then make it and still lose the gun...which they searched me for and haven't found?"
There was silence.
A shift.
A twitch in his jaw like he hadn't intended to go on a mini rant.
His eyes moved past me to the corner of the room. but like he was waiting for permission. What in the world was up with the suit guy?
Private security?
I scribbled down what he said and took a last look at the notes, then something caught my attention.
Actually it was the lack of something that caught my attention.
There was no listed cause of death. No wound description. Just 'Homicide: Under Investigation.' That wasn't just sloppy. That was deliberate.
Did Carlos forget to add that?
No, Carlos was awkward but he was detailed. It was probably from the police department.
"Erm..." I looked up at Marcus who was now looking down at the file in my hands. Something felt off.
"I'll be right back." I stood and headed for the door, I pushed open the door and stepped out, heading straight to Harry's desk.
"You done?" He asked when he saw me.
"No, you should try to be less sloppy," I said waving the file in the air.
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"You're accusing him of murder but couldn't even add how to the file," I answered.
"Oh, he rubbed the back of his neck, "The coroner's report got delayed so we just got it like thirty minutes ago."
He pulled out a piece of paper from a pile and handed it over to me.
"Also you weren't supposed to speak with him till I got here," I added.
Just him talking to Marcus about the cause of death without proper counsel was prohibited. So many people had gotten coarse into confessing to things they didn't do that way.
His brows furrowed, he looked genuinely confused, "Talk to him, no one's been in that room but you and the man in a suit."
"What?" I said.
"We follow the law around here," he said, his voice oozing with criticism. "No one has talked to him or interrogated him, we didn't even tell him anything other than he was held under suspicion of a murder."
I froze, my brain processing his statement.
They hadn't interrogated him.
My eyes shifted to the hall that led to the interrogation room.
Then how the hell did Marcus know Rico Mendez was shut in the neck?!.