Reasonable Doubt 3

by Whitney Gracia Williams

  “Why don’t you just ask your boss if you can work weekends in exchange for a couple weekdays off?”

  “I’m pretty sure that won’t work.”

  “Of course it would work,” I said. “There’s a lawyer at my firm who works Saturdays through Wednesdays so he can pursue music. If the firm you work for is worth a damn, they’ll be flexible with you.”

  “Yeah, um, I guess I’ll have to look into that…”

  Silence.

  “What firm do you work for?” I asked.

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “What’s one of the partners’ names?”

  “I can’t tell you that either.”

  “But you can tell me how deep you want my cock to be buried inside of you later tonight?”

  She sucked in a short breath, a sexy sound that drove me insane the more I heard it.

  “How much longer do you think I’m going to put up with just talking to you on the phone, Alyssa?”

  “For as long as I want you to.” Her voice sounded more confident now.

  “You think I’m going to talk to you for another month without being able to fuck you? Without being able to see you in person?”

  “I think you’ll talk to me for several months without fucking me. As a matter of fact, I think you’ll talk to me for years without fucking me because I’m your friend, and friends—”

  “If I haven’t fucked you within the next month or two, we won’t be friends anymore.”

  “You want to bet?”

  “I don’t have to.” I hung up and grabbed my laptop, ready to give Date-Match another try. The second I clicked the prettiest woman on the page, an email from Alyssa popped onto my screen.

  Subject: Trust Me.

  You and I will still be friends a few months from now, and you’ll be completely okay with not seeing my face.

  Watch.

  —Alyssa.

  Subject: Re: Trust Me.

  You and I will be fucking a few months from now, and the only reason I’ll be okay with not seeing your face is because you’ll be riding my cock as I bend your ass over a table.

  Watch.

  —Thoreau.

  Testimony (n.):

  Oral evidence given under oath by a witness in answer to questions posed by attorneys at trial or at a deposition.

  Andrew

  “Miss Everhart, you can take the floor and question Mr. Hamilton now,” Mr. Greenwood said from across the courtroom.

  It was the last day of the month, which meant that we were finally getting use out of the million dollar courtroom that sat on the top floor of GBH. There was no need for this room, but since the firm had more money than it knew what to do with, the space was being used for the interns’ mock cases.

  Today’s “trial” was about some idiot who defrauded his own company’s employees—leaving them without insurance and health care, and unfortunately, I was playing the accused.

  Standing up from the defense table, Aubrey grabbed her notebook and took the floor. She and I hadn’t spoken since I kicked her out of my condo two weeks ago, but from what I could tell, she seemed unfazed.

  She’d been smiling quite often, being extremely nice, and each time she delivered my coffee she did it with a smirk and an, “I really hope you enjoy this coffee, Mr. Hamilton.”

  I’d been stopping at the coffee shop up the street ever since…

  “Mr. Hamilton,” she said, smoothing her tight blue dress, “is it true that you previously cheated on your wife?”

  “I’ve never cheated.”

  “Stick to the character, Andrew.” Mr. Bach whispered from the judge’s seat.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes. There was a time when I cheated on my wife.”

  “Why?”

  “Objection!” One of the interns shouted. “Your Honor, do we really need to know the specifics about my client’s love life? This mock trial is about his involvement in a conspiracy.”

  “If I may, Your Honor,” Aubrey spoke before the “judge” could say anything. “I think assessing how Mr. Hamilton behaved in his previous affairs is a good assessment of his character. If we were trying a client who abandoned his company due to incompetence, it wouldn’t be out of line for me to ask about his previous personal relationships—especially if our mock client is a high profile one.”

  “Overruled.”

  Aubrey smiled and looked at her notebook. “Do you have commitment problems, Mr. Hamilton?”

  “How can I have a problem with something I don’t believe in?”

  “So, you believe in engaging in one night stands for the rest of your life?”

  “Your Honor…” The opposing intern stood up, but I raised my hand.

  “No need,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Aubrey. “I’ll entertain Miss Everhart’s inappropriate line of questioning...I believe in living my life however the hell I want and dealing with women whenever I want to deal with them. I’m not sure how who I sleep with has anything to do with this mock conspiracy case, but since we’re discussing my sex life, you should know that I’m happy and satisfied. I have a date later tonight actually. Would you like me to report the details to you and the jury tomorrow?”

  The interns in the jury box laughed as Aubrey’s smile faded. Even as she forced it again, I could see a hint of hurt in her eyes.

  “So…” She took a deep breath. “Regarding the case—”

  “So happy you’re finally getting on topic.”

  The jurors laughed again.

  “Do you believe in morals, Mr. Hamilton?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think you possess them?”

  “I think everyone does to a certain extent.”

  “Permission to approach the witness?” She looked at Mr. Bach and he nodded.

  “Mr. Hamilton, can you read the highlighted portion of this document please?” She placed a sheet of paper in front of me, and I noticed a small handwritten note at the very top of the page:

  I fucking hate you and I wish I’d never met you.

  “Yes,” I said, taking a pen out of my pocket. “It says that my company was unaware of insurance policy changes at the time.”

  As she handed a copy of the document to the jury panel, I wrote a response to her note:

  Sorry to see that you regret meeting me, as I don’t regret meeting you—only that I fucked you more than once.

  She asked me to read another section to the court, and then she took the paper away—glaring at me once she read my words.

  I tried to look away from her, to focus on something else, but the way she looked today prevented that from happening. Her hair wasn’t up in her signature bun—it was falling past her shoulders in long curls that grazed her breasts. And the dress she was wearing, a highly inappropriate one that hugged her thighs a little too tightly, rose up an inch every time she took a step.

  “I have three more questions for Mr. Hamilton, Your Honor,” she said.

  “There’s no limit, Miss Everhart.” He smiled.

  “Right…” She stepped forward and looked into my eyes. “Mr. Hamilton, you and your company led your employees to believe that you cared about them, that you had their best interests at heart, and that you would literally communicate the actual changes you would make before termination. Are those promises not directly from your company’s brochure?”

  “They are.”

  “So, do you believe that you deserve to be fined or punished for giving your employees false hope? For dragging them into a situation you knew you would end all along?”

  “I think I did what was in my company’s best interest,” I said—ignoring the fact that my heart was pounding against my chest. “And in the future, as those employees move on like they should, they’ll perhaps realize that my company wasn’t the best fit for them anyway.”

  “Don’t you think you owe them a simple apology? Don’t you think you should at least give them that?”

  “An apology implies that I did something w
rong.” I gritted my teeth. “Just because they don’t agree with what I did, doesn’t mean that I wasn’t right.”

  “Do you believe in reasonable doubt, Mr. Hamilton?”

  “You said you only had three questions left. Has elementary mathematics changed recently?”

  “Do you believe in reasonable doubt, Mr. Hamilton?” Her face reddened. “Yes or no?”

  “Yes.” I clenched my jaw. “Yes, I believe that’s a common requirement for every single lawyer in this country.”

  “So, given the current case that we’re discussing…Do you think that someone like you, someone who treated his employees so terribly, could ever change in the future, now that you know how badly you’ve hurt others’ livelihood?”

  “Reasonable doubt is not about feelings, Miss Everhart, and I suggest you consult the closest legal dictionary you can find because I’m pretty sure we’ve had this discussion once before…”

  “I don’t recall that, Mr. Hamilton, but—”

  “In your own ill-fated yet correct words, didn’t you once tell me—post your first interview here at GBH, that certain lies have to be told and certain truths have to be withheld? And that the ultimate conviction is up to those who can discern which is which?” I looked her up and down. “Is that not the exact definition that you provided for reasonable doubt?”

  She stared at me a long time—giving me that same look of hurt she had when I kicked her out of my place.

  “No further questions, Your Honor.” She mumbled.

  Mr. Greenwood clapped loudly from the back of the room. Mr. Bach and the other interns followed suit.

  “Very good job, Miss Everhart!” Mr. Bach shouted. “That was a very direct yet compelling line of questioning.”

  “Thank you sir.” She avoided looking at me.

  “You are officially the first intern to get our Andrew all riled up.” He smiled, seemingly impressed. “We definitely need to keep you around. Hell, we may call you in when we need to be reminded that he’s capable of showing emotion.”

  More laughter.

  “Great job today, everyone!” He leaned back in the judge’s chair. “We’ll go over your presentations later this week and email you the scores next Thursday.” He banged his gavel. “Court adjourned.”

  The interns filed out of the room and Aubrey looked over her shoulder one last time, shooting me an angry look.

  I shot one right back, grateful that I had a date tonight so I could fuck her and her stupid questions out of my mind.

  Seven o’clock can’t get here soon enough…

  I waited a few minutes before heading to the elevator and attempted to remember my schedule for the rest of the day. I had two consultations with small business owners this afternoon, and I needed to make a Starbucks run before Aubrey could bring me my next cup of coffee.

  I unlocked the door to my office and hit the lights, prepared to call for Jessica, but Ava was standing in front of my bookshelf.

  “Is the homeless shelter not open today?” I asked.

  “I came here to finally give you what you asked for.”

  “It’s a little too early to jump off a bridge.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “As am I.” I walked past her and sent a quick text on my phone. “If you jump before noon, the news crew won’t be able to run the story during primetime.”

  She stepped in front of my desk and set down a manila folder. “I won’t drag your name through the courts anymore, I won’t file anymore stays or injunctions, and I won’t make any false claims about your character either…I’m done lying now.”

  “I’m sure.” I picked up the papers. “In other words, there’s a new guy you’re anxious to fuck over. Does he know the real you?”

  “Seriously? You’re getting your precious divorce. Why do you even care?”

  “I don’t.” I put on my reading glasses and looked over the documents. “No alimony requests, abuse claims, or demands for property? Am I missing a page?”

  “I’m telling you. I’m done lying.”

  I didn’t believe her for one second, but I picked up my phone and called the notary, telling her it was an emergency.

  “You know…” Ava leaned against my desk. “I remember the cake you bought me for our wedding anniversary. It was white and light blue, and it had all these pretty little NYC decorations on it. It had flavored layers, too. One for every year that we were together. Do you remember that?”

  “I remember you fucking my best friend.”

  “We can’t have one nice moment before we end things for good?”

  “You and I ended a long time ago, Ava.” I tried to keep my voice flat, monotonous. “When something is over, the final words—good or bad, don’t make much of a fucking difference.”

  She sighed and I noticed how terrible she looked today. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair was frizzy and tied into a loose ponytail, and even though the blue dress she was wearing fit perfectly, she hadn’t made an attempt to iron it.

  “What’s this so called emergency you have, Mr. Hamilton?” The notary walked into the room, smiling. “Are you requesting that we purchase another thousand dollar coffee maker?” She stopped talking once she saw Ava.

  “Miss Kannan, this is Ava Sanchez, my soon to be ex-wife. I need you to witness the signing of the divorce papers and make three copies—sealing one of them for mailing purposes.”

  She nodded and pulled a stamper out of her pocket.

  “Did you notice that I willingly gave up our condo on the West End to you?” Ava asked.

  “The condo that I bought?” I signed my name. “How generous.”

  “We made a lot of memories in that house.”

  “Signing papers doesn’t require conversation,” I said.

  She snatched the pen away from me and placed her signature above mine—taking extra time to add a double swirl to the last letter.

  “I’ll be right back with your copies.” Miss Kannan avoided looking at either of us as she shuffled out of the room.

  “So, that’s it, I guess,” Ava said. “I’m officially out of your life.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Unfortunately, you’re still in my sight.”

  “Would it kill you to wish me the best? To at least tell me good luck?”

  “Seeing as though you’re going back to prison, I guess that would be appropriate.” I shrugged. “Good luck. The authorities are outside waiting for you, so take all the time you need. There’s even a vending machine down the hall if you want to taste freedom one last time…Although, since you’ll be locked up with plenty of women, I’m sure eating pussy after the lights go out will taste just as good.”

  “You fucking snitched on me?” Her face went white as I held up my phone, showing her the text I sent the second I saw her in my office. “How could you do that to me?”

  “How could I not?”

  “Did I really hurt you that badly, Liam? Did I—”

  “Don’t you ever fucking call me that.”

  “Did I hurt you that badly?” She repeated, shaking her head.

  I didn’t answer.

  “This is…This is about Emma isn’t it?” She hissed. “Is that what this is? You’re still holding that shit over my head?”

  “Get the fuck out. Now.”

  “It’s been six years, Liam. Six. Fucking. Years. You need to let that go.” She opened the door and a sly smile spread across her face. “Things like that happen all the time...As unfortunate as it was, it helped make you the man you are today, didn’t it?”

  It took everything in me to stay seated, to not lunge after her.

  Seething, I waited for her to leave and walked over to my window—watching as she stepped into the parking lot, as she raised her hands in the air as the officers shouted at her.

  Then, just like six years ago, she smiled through the handcuffing process, and laughed when they tossed her into the back of the car.

  The black fleet slowly drove away, and a familiar p
ang hit my chest.

  Grabbing my keys, I rushed to the parking lot and slipped into my car—subconsciously telling myself to go home, consciously driving toward the nearest beach.

  I put my phone on silent as I hit the highway, and as the seconds dissolved into hours, the city disappeared in the rearview mirror. The buildings appeared farther and farther apart, and eventually the only thing outside my window were trees and sand.

  When I finally reached a secluded bay, I parked my car in front of a rock. I opened my glove compartment and took out the red folder Aubrey once tried to open. Then I stepped out and sat on the closest bench.

  Taking a deep breath, I pulled out the photos and promised myself that this would be the last time I looked at them: Me and my daughter walking along the shore of New Jersey’s beach as the sun set. Her smiling as I picked up a seashell and held it against her ear. Me carrying her on my shoulders and pointing to a starry night sky.

  Even though I knew doing this would lead to cold sweats and an inevitable nightmare later, I continued flipping through the photos.

  Even the ones without me: The ones of her looking sad and lonely at the park, the ones of her looking off into the distance for something—or someone, that wasn’t there.

  Emma…

  My heart clenched at the final frame in the set. It was a shot of her fiddling with her umbrella, crying. She was upset because they were forcing her to go inside, because they didn’t understand that although she liked being at the park in broad sunlight, she preferred to play outside in the rain.

  Emotional Distress (n.):

  A negative emotional reaction—which may include fear, anger, anxiety, and suffering for which monetary damages may be awarded.

  Aubrey

  I looked terrible. Absolutely terrible.

  Today was the first full costume rehearsal for Swan Lake and I didn’t look fit for the part at all. My eyes were swollen and puffy—ruined from randomly crying about Andrew, my lips were dry and cracked, and my skin was so pale that Mr. Petrova walked by and asked, “Are you playing a white swan or are you playing a white ghost?”