Obligation （n.） – Jameson
OBLIGATION (N.):
A LEGAL DUTY TO PAY OR DO SOMETHING.
JAMESON
Friday
“What part of ‘Never talk to the police without your lawyer’ is hard for you to understand, Mr. Grisham?” I glare at my latest client. “Not a fucking word.”
“They were being so nice.” He smiles. “They brought me my favorite donuts.”
“To coerce a confession out of you.” I slam my hand against the interrogation table. “How do you not know this?”
“They were cinnamon and cream filled,” he says. “You probably wouldn’t have been able to resist either.”
I shut the pink box he’s staring at.
“You have a lawyer,” I say. “A very fucking good one who you pay a shit ton of money to every month. You do not talk to police, and you never ever speak to a detective without me being right beside you, clear?”
“Clear…” He nods. “Am I screwed now?”
“No.” I look at my watch. “Luckily for you, they didn’t read your Miranda rights, so nothing you said can be used. You’ll spend tonight in jail, though. I’ll be sure to get you out tomorrow.”
“Okay, great.” He pauses. “Do you think I stole all that money from my boss?”
I know you did. “My job is to make sure the jury doesn’t, Mr. Grisham.”
“That’s fair.” He looks at the donut box. “Can I have those back until they formally arrest me?”
I slide it to him and leave the room.
Rushing across the street to the courthouse, I make it through security and hear a loud, piercing, heart-wrenching scream sift down the hallway.
I move closer, seeing security guards escorting a heavy-set man out of the farthest courtroom.
“Shhhh!” One of the guards says. “You can’t act like that in the courtroom. You’re lucky the judge isn’t holding you in contempt.”
“It’s not fair!” The man wails. “That man is a murderer and he’s getting away with it!”
“Sir, calm down or—”
“Or what?” He yells. “I don’t have anything to live for anymore. Fuck you!”
“Sir, the jury has spoken.”
“They got it fucking wrong!” He swings at the officers. “The jury got it wrong!”
I watch them carry him away in cuffs and tears, feeling my chest ache at a scene I know all too well.
Nothing like Lady Justice fucking someone over…
When the hall is quiet again, I walk toward the lead clerk’s office.
Scarlett
Hey…
It’s Friday now. I need to talk to you about something important.
“Shit.” I sigh and make a mental note to call her later.
“Is there any moral line you won’t cross, Jameson Fucking Tate?” Julia steps in front of me as I approach the clerk’s office. “Like, any?”
“We really don’t have to talk every time we run into each other, Julia…” I say. “I have some business to handle.”
“At this point, I’m not sure if the bar on your morals can go any lower.” She ignores my comment. “It’s already in Hell.”
“You seem really obsessed with the Hell metaphors lately.” I hold back a sigh. “I could’ve sworn I sent you a thesaurus last month.”
“I received it.” She rolls her eyes. “I only need thirty seconds of your time.”
“Tick tock.”
“Are we adding the Brennan case to our settlement list, or are you hell-bent on putting on a dramatic performance for it in court?”
“Depends,” I say. “What are you offering?”
“Five years in prison, no post-release probation.”
“We’re going to a goddamn trial.”
“Three years in prison,” she counters, “with two years post-release probation.”
“We’re still going to trial.”
“Five years house arrest with strict conditions.” She always has to save her “best offer” last. “Your client pays all legal fees and restitution to the victim.”
“You want my client to pay himself?” I ask. “Has the definition of ‘victim’ changed recently?”
“That’s my best offer and you know it, Jameson,” she says. “Undefeated record or not, this case isn’t worth him risking his freedom with a jury.”
Okay, enough.
“Your evidence is circumstantial at best,” I say. “Your client is unlikable as hell, and if you think I won’t bring up the fact that he killed four puppies when he was a teenager—which will automatically get the jury on my side—you’re delusional.”
“Fine.” She throws up her hands. “Have Rachel call me with your ideas and we’ll negotiate.”
“Give me until tomorrow.”
“Will do.” She lets out a breath. “You know, not that it matters to you or anything, but I’m somewhat grateful that I never see you in any of my special victims cases.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know—” She shrugs. “The rapists, pedophiles, sex offenders. You don’t have a single case like that in your entire history.”
“Even the devil has to draw a line somewhere…”
I turn away and walk into the clerk’s office. I make copies of all the records I’ll need for Scarlett’s father and brothers. I carry them back to my firm and pore over them line by line.
By the time I take a break, it’s Saturday morning and I haven’t contacted Scarlett at all.