by Dave Derin
“Wait, did you carry all of this stuff with you all the way here?” I questioned with wide eyes. “You should have asked me to come pick you up, silly. I’m sure this would have fit in my trunk.”
“Oh, I didn’t think that would be appropriate,” she responded and shook her spiral chestnut-brown curls. “Besides, I really don’t live too far away. It’s only a few blocks.”
“Alright, well, in the future if you ever need a ride it’s absolutely appropriate to ask your boss for a quick lift. At least it is when I’m the boss.” I gave the mocha-skinned young woman a friendly smile.
“Okay, well thank you, Mr. Stone. I appreciate it,” she said as she gently set the pink tote bag on the floor, laid her laptop case next to it, then quickly hopped up the steps and gazed at the magnificent light fixture on the ceiling. “Wow, this is incredible. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before.”
“Don’t feel bad, I didn’t notice it my first time in here either,” I said with a chuckle as I moved to stand beside her and peered up at it. “It really is an awesome piece, isn’t it?”
“It really is. It kind of reminds me of a tree,” she said absently and tilted her head to the side, then visibly drew herself back to reality with a quick shake of her head. “Okay, what should I get started on first?”
“Okay,” I said slowly and looked around the space. “How about you go ahead and get Athena set up first. Next, if you can get the office supplies unbagged and sorted, that would be great. Then go ahead and clear a space for your laptop, grab one of those empty file folders, and we’ll start piecing together our client’s file for tomorrow.”
“Sounds great,” she chirped, then slid Athena’s perch to the corner of the reception area, gently removed the bright yellow lizard from her pink tote, and set her on the top of it with a light pat on the head. My efficient new paralegal then began to work on unpacking and organizing the bags of office supplies.
I checked my phone and saw that it was already 4:30 p.m. I wasn’t surprised that Estelle was late, but I hoped she appeared soon so that I could get that over with and focus on the case. Destinee had the supplies organized within ten minutes and had the printer unpacked within another five. After she’d finished those tasks, she unfolded the card table that stood against the wall, unpacked and plugged in her computer, and pulled up a Word template.
“What do you have there?” I asked and moved to stand behind her so I could see the screen.
“I designed this basic client information template, so I’ll go ahead and pull pertinent data, like her date of birth, address, and that kind of stuff, from PACER, and we can gather the rest of the information after tomorrow’s hearing,” Destinee spoke rapidly but clearly, and I admired her proactive nature. “Then I can print the info sheet and any motions that have already been filed and compile them all in her folder for you.”
“This is fantastic, Destinee,” I praised her, and she smiled up at me with perfectly straight, white teeth. “Absolutely fantastic. Alright, so you go ahead and start pulling that information, and hopefully my interior decorator will be here soon.”
No sooner had those words left my mouth, the front door slammed open and in walked the infamous Estelle O’Hare. Her short, black hair was intentionally unruly and spiky, and she wore a straight silver sequined dress that ended right below her skinny knees. Her short, thin legs were covered in black tights, and black ballet flats with matching silver sequin accents that laced up halfway to her knees completed her sparkling outfit.
“John, dah-ling, where’s my kiss?” The diva inquired and held out both ringed hands to embrace me.
“Estelle, you’re looking as glamorous as always, my dear,” I chuckled and leapt down the three stairs to greet her. She gave me a quick kiss on each cheek, and her heavy, floral perfume nearly made me gag.
“It’s so good to see you, dah-ling, but I must admit,” she said, and raised her eyebrow as she surveyed the room. “This is not exactly what I expected.”
“I know it’s not, but that’s why it’s an adventure,” I told her playfully, then offered her my arm. She took it, and I led her slowly up the stairs so that she could get a better view of the interior space. “This is my paralegal, Destinee Mitchell.”
“Nice to meet you, dear,” Estelle gushed. “Isn’t your hair just lovely?”
“Oh, thank you,” Destinee replied quietly and grinned, then turned her focus back to her computer.
“The wood is quite nice,” Estelle admitted as she strutted around the space, which made her sequined dress swish loudly as she moved.
“Oh, full disclosure,” I continued as I turned to face the sparkly decorator and pressed my hands together in front of my chest in a praying motion. “I’m on a rather tight budget for this renovation, so I already purchased some discounted furniture, and it will be delivered tomorrow.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the pictures I’d taken of the newly purchased items.
“Hmmm,” Estelle said, then took my phone from my hand and continued to walk around the open space. She held the phone up in a few areas with different items’ pictures pulled up, then sauntered back over and handed my phone back to me.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked tentatively and rubbed my hands together. “Can you work your magic on the place?”
“Of course I can, dah-ling,” she turned and shot me a glare. “I can transform any space. Now, what colors are you wanting to go with?”
“I really love this dark jade green in this light fixture on the ceiling,” I responded and pointed up at the magnificent feature.
“Oh my god,” Estelle shrieked and clutched her chest. “That’s an original Mordatelli fixture, John.”
“A what?” I asked, looked up at the art piece, and crossed my arms over my broad chest.
“It’s a Mordatelli, John,” the exuberant woman exclaimed and grabbed my arm. “Great googly moogly, my dear boy, this is an incredible discovery. Do you not understand the magnitude of your find?”
“I obviously have no idea what a Mordatelli is,” I said with a chuckle and took her tiny, wrinkled hand in mine. “Please, enlighten me.”
“Ricardo Mordatelli was one of the most renowned glass workers of the early 1900s in the south west. His works were largely lost or destroyed throughout the years due to their commercial and industrial installation, but this one has survived,” she said incredulously and never took her eyes off the elaborate glass ceiling fixture.
“Well, in that case, I guess it can stay,” I jested with a sly grin.
“Of course it’s staying,” she fussed and slapped my arm playfully. “It’s going to be the centerpiece and focal point of my entire design.”
“Sounds wonderful, Estelle. I can’t wait to see it,” I replied and put my muscled arm around her thin shoulders. “So, when do you think we can get started?”
“Well,” she hesitated, then took my hand that lay draped over her shoulder in her own small one, and squeezed it gently. “I think we could start by late next week. Perhaps by next Thursday if my contractors are available. I’ll draw up a concept design tonight and shoot you an email later, alright dear?”
“Perfect, Estelle,” I responded with a big smile. “I’m excited to see what you come up with.”
Estelle and I said our goodbyes, and she closed the encounter with her signature French-style double kiss before she strutted out of the front glass door.
“She is so cool,” Destinee said with admiration once Estelle had exited the building.
“She sure is,” I said with a chuckle. “So, how’s that data sheet coming along?”
“It’s done,” Destinee replied promptly. “I’ve been working on your website for the past few minutes. I just need to hook up the printer, and we can get the file compiled.
We spent the next half hour connecting the printer to Destinee’s laptop and creating the documents needed for Susanna’s court file. The next time I checked my phone, it was close to 6:30 p.m.
; “Oh whoa, I didn’t realize it was already past six,” I said and looked over at Destinee who was printing the file label with Susanna’s name and case number on it. “I think we’re all finished up here, so let’s go ahead and close up shop. Can you be here at eight o’clock tomorrow morning? The arraignment is at that time, so I’ll probably go straight there from my apartment.”
“Sure, that’s no problem,” my curly-haired paralegal replied.
“Great,” I said, then reached into my pocket, retrieved the set of office keys, and removed one of the copies. “Here, this will get you in the back door, so go ahead and let yourself in. The furniture should be delivered some time tomorrow, so if you don’t mind letting them in and just have them put it somewhere out of the way for now, that would be perfect.”
“Alrighty,” she said, then nodded her head and took the key from my outstretched hand.
Destinee packed up her laptop and Athena, then we both headed out the back door toward the brick patio. I locked the office behind me and turned to see that my paralegal stood and stared at the unique red brick space.
“Isn’t this neat?” I asked as I moved to stand next to her.
“Oh, yeah,” she said and turned to smile at me. “It’s super cool.”
“Need a ride?” I offered as we continued to stroll slowly across the brick patio.
“Nah, it’s okay,” she said, then waved at me, and started to walk toward the left.
“Are you sure? It’s starting to get dark,” I questioned her again.
“I promise, I only live right over there,” she pointed across the parking lot to a group of pine trees.
“Okay, well I’ll call you when I’m out of court tomorrow and let you know what’s going on, alright?” I told her as I walked toward my car and clicked the key fob to unlock it.
“Sounds like a plan,” she said, then turned and started to walk through the gravel parking lot toward the trees.
I watched her walk away until I couldn't see her anymore, then pulled out of the parking lot and headed home. When I finally laid my head on the plush down pillows of my four poster bed that night, I made a mental checklist of everything I needed to do for tomorrow morning.
The next thing I remembered was the alarm going off in the morning. I grabbed my phone, shut off the noise, jumped out of bed and got ready faster than I ever had before. The morning sun blinded me as I cruised down the highway toward the Earle Cabell Federal Building where Susanna’s arraignment was scheduled to be held in one hour. I pulled into downtown and made my way down Jackson Street until I reached the Platinum parking lot located directly behind the federal building on Jackson and Wood. I paid the twelve dollar daily parking fee at the automated machine, then swiftly walked toward the crosswalk to pass over Jackson Street.
The towering brick and light gray concrete building loomed before me. The strong vertical lines of its design made it appear even taller, and I glanced up at the top of the structure that jutted into the bright blue Texas sky. It was already 75 degrees and muggy outside, so as soon as the white WALK sign lit up I booked it across Jackson. I made my way down the empty sidewalk until I reached the front entrance of the building, which faced Commerce. Small stone spheres lined the walkway in front of the red entrance, which had Earle Cabell Federal Building in bold white letters above the glass doors.
I switched my briefcase to my other hand as I walked toward the front door so that I could grab my ID from my wallet. I’d worn my nicest black suit with a light gray button-down shirt and a crimson tie, so I felt confident as I strode through the front door and handed the burly guard working the security line my bar license.
The dark haired, thickset man studied my license for a quick moment, then glanced up at my face as he handed it back. “Which defendant are you here to represent?”
“Susanna Jenkins,” I replied.
The hefty guard raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Alright, you’re cleared to go through the metal detectors, Mr. Stone. Please remove all metal items and electronic devices and place them in the white tub to the right of the machine.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said with a nod, and headed toward the metal detector line. Two men and a woman who all wore dark business suits waited as a petite, coffee-complexioned young female guard waved each one through as she kept an eagle eye on the screen in front of her.
“Next,” the slight woman stated and waved the woman in line through.
It only took a minute before I reached the front of the line, placed my briefcase, cell phone, and belt in the large, plastic tub beside the machine, and set it on the conveyor belt before I stepped through the metal detector.
“All clear. Next,” the brunette guard said and waved me through.
I grabbed my belongings from the tub, put my belt back on, and headed down the hall toward the arraignment courtroom. It was still only 7:20 a.m., so I had at least thirty minutes to prepare before the bailiff brought out my newest, and only, client. I rounded the corner to face the impressively large wooden doors of the courtroom. An older guard, a salt-and-pepper haired gentleman, stood in front of the doors with a blank expression, and his arms folded across his broad chest. Even though he appeared to be in his sixties, a hard, muscular physique was concealed under his khaki officer’s uniform.
I walked up to him, held out my hand, and gave him a smile. “Good morning, sir,” I began. “I’m John Stone, the defendant’s attorney in this morning’s arraignment. Would it be okay if I head in a little early to prepare?”
The well-built officer shook my hand firmly and nodded. “Sure, no problem,” he replied gruffly. He turned and grasped the brass handle of the tall wooden door, then turned and looked at me curiously.
“Yes?” I asked as I sensed he had a question for me.
“You said Stone? Are you related to the late Paul Stone, by any chance?” The guard’s wrinkled face lit up as he waited for my response.
“I am, actually. Paul Stone was my father,” I told him with a warm smile.
“Well, I’ll be,” the man exclaimed and clapped his hand on my shoulder. “I could have guessed just by lookin’ at ya’. Y’all coulda been twins back in the 90s, I tell you what.”
“So I’ve been told,” I replied with a laugh. Nearly everyone I met in the legal field who knew my father told me how much I looked like the legendary attorney. “I’m sorry, what was your name, sir?”
“Timbo,” the smiling man replied. “Well, at least that’s what my friends, your dad included, call me. Tim Boringer is my actual name.”
“It’s great to meet you, Mr. Boringer,” I said and returned his smile.
“Call me Timbo,” he said warmly.
“Alright, Timbo it is,” I responded and a chuckle.
“Go on in, Mr. Stone,” he said as he proceeded to pull the wooden door open to reveal an empty courtroom.
The walls were covered from floor to ceiling in light brown wood panelling. Even the recessed part of the wall behind the judge’s long bench was covered in the same rectangular wooden panels, but featured a large brass emblem that read United States District Court, Northern District of Texas in a circle around an eagle holding an olive branch in one talon and a bundle of arrows in the other. The seal glimmered under the recessed light fixtures that were installed along the ceiling. Maroon cloth chairs with wheels sat before two long, wooden tables that matched the hue of the wall panels and gave the room a hazel color-washed appearance.
I slowly stepped down the aisle and lowered myself into one of the maroon chairs on the defendant’s side of the room. I popped open my briefcase, pulled out the extensive file I’d compiled the night before, and laid it on the table before I closed my black briefcase and set it on the floor next to me. I opened the pale green, thick cover of the folder and examined the first page, Susanna’s official charges. She was facing charges of domestic terrorism and carrying an explosive device on a plane. At that point, I had no idea what the prosecution had because I hadn’t had time to req
uest Susanna’s former defense attorney’s files, but I knew we were going to plead not guilty, set a discovery hearing date, and then get the heck out of there to strategize and create a game plan together.
I took a few minutes and reviewed Susanna’s file, but knew it wouldn’t make much of a difference for this initial hearing. I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket and set it on the wood table in front of me. It was 7:35 a.m., and the courtroom was still mostly empty.
The court reporter had entered about five minutes ago and trudged to her little wooden station in front of the judge’s bench. The tall, slender woman looked to be in her mid-40s. She had short, curly blonde hair that must have been chemically permed because the curls seemed too tight to be natural. She wore a dark navy suit with a long skirt that hung well past her knees. The wide coat lapels seemed too large for her thin frame. Her svelte legs were covered in tan pantyhose that led down to sensible nude colored pumps.
She’d ignored me when she first walked in and had immediately taken a seat at her station and started to adjust and test her stenotype machine. After she’d satisfactorily tested the machine, she pulled a small, paperback book from a shelf beneath the machine and began to read.
A few minutes later, a well-dressed, gray-haired man wearing silver-rimmed glasses, an expensive black suit, and an even more expensive smile walked through the door and made a beeline straight for me.
“John Stone,” the middle-aged man announced as he held out his hand. “It’s been ages. How’ve you been?”
“It’s great to see you, Benji,” I said as I stood up from the defense table and shook his hand warmly. “I’ve been doing very well, actually. I just ventured out on my own and started John Stone Law, so get ready to see a lot more of me in court.” Benjamin Price was an old friend of my father’s, and one of the few attorneys Paul Stone spoke highly about. Benji had a son who was around my age, and we’d grown up in the Boy Scouts together. Benji had been the scout troop leader for several of those years, and I had many fond memories of us on camping excursions, where he’d taught us how to build a proper campfire and tie a variety of useful knots.
