JULES
I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
The man I'd become stared back at me. The bathroom lights above the sink were too bright.
They hit every line in my face, every shadow under my eyes, every inch of the man standing there pretending he had control over what was about to happen.
I was dressed sharp. Black Armani suit and gold watch.
Shoes polished so clean the floor light bounced off them.
I didn't look like a man on trial. I looked like a man going to a business meeting.
That was the point. Appearances mattered in rooms like this.
Judges noticed. Jurors did too. Men who looked composed had a better chance of walking out of courtrooms than men who looked desperate.
Still, my jaw stayed tight. I didn't know what the fuck was about to happen.
That bitch sent that box to my house, aint no telling what she sent to the judge or the DA.
The thought sat heavy in my chest. Even dead, she still had a way of making noise in my life.
I felt dumb as fuck. Stupid for thinking I had that bitch under control.
That was the first rule about dealing with women like Jade.
You never really controlled women like that.
You just borrowed the illusion for a while.
My hand came up, rubbing slowly over my beard.
Crazy part about it, I found myself grieving the bitch, and I kept asking myself why with no answer.
That part didn't make sense. It wasn't love.
It damn sure wasn't loyalty, but it was something I didn’t have answers for.
I leaned forward, placing both hands on the edge of the sink.
For a second, I just breathed. The way men who had lived through worse things trained themselves to do.
“Lawd if you get me outta this shit I’m living my life as a righteous family man," I mumbled, running my hand over my beard.
The words sounded strange even leaving my mouth.
The bathroom door cracked open. "Yo lawyer say it show time brudda," Juste said sticking his head in the bathroom door quick before closing it. I straightened my jacket and looked at myself one last time. The man in the mirror didn't look scared. I turned and walked out of the bathroom.
My family and my lawyer were outside waiting for me.
Mama stood near the wall with her purse clutched tight against her chest like she was holding onto something solid.
Pierre leaned against the hallway bench scrolling through his phone like the whole thing bored him.
Juste stood beside the courtroom doors talking quietly with my attorney.
And Nia, she stood a little separate from the rest of them.
Her hands folded in front of her like she had been standing there thinking for a while.
When she saw me step out, she walked toward me.
When she made it to me, she started fixing my tie and rubbing her hands along my shoulders, knocking the slight wrinkles out of my suit jacket.
Her fingers moved out of habit. For a second, I almost leaned into it.
But something in her face stopped me. She wasn't smiling; she was just distant.
"Good luck." She said, looking me in my eyes before moving to stand next to Mama.
That was the most she had said to me in a month since that box came in the mail.
I stood there for a second watching her step away.
My chest tightened just a little. I told myself she was still here as my wife on my side.
My attorney cleared his throat. "Ready?" I nodded.
We stepped toward the courtroom doors. I stood next to my attorney before walking into the courtroom with my family behind me.
The courtroom smelled like old wood and paperwork.
Every courtroom smelled the same. The judge already sat at the bench, flipping through a folder.
The jury sat stiff in their seats, watching everything.
The state attorney stood at his table, stacking papers like he had all the time in the world.
I kept my face blank. That was another thing I learned early: Emotion was a luxury. And luxury got you buried.
The trial moved quick. The state was presenting evidence and holding off on getting to their key witness. Photos. Financial documents. Phone records. Nothing explosive. Just pieces that meant nothing alone but could build something dangerous when stacked together.
I sat there listening without reacting. My lawyer leaned over every few minutes, whispering something under his breath.
I nodded every time. I knew they didn't have her.
But I was sure the judge and the jury didn't. Jade was their golden ticket.
The woman who could tie everything together with a neat little bow.
But Jade was dead. And dead women couldn't testify.
My lawyer told me they still had her on the docket to testify, like they were still hoping she showed up.
Hope was a strange thing to build a case on.
But prosecutors did it all the time when they thought a story could scare twelve people into believing something they couldn't prove.
I sat still at the defense table, hands folded on the wood like I had nowhere else to be.
My lawyer shuffled papers beside me, but I didn't look at him. I kept my eyes forward.
"Call your last and final witness to the stand.
" The judge instructed the DA. His voice carried the kind of impatience you only heard from men who had already made up their mind about the direction of the day.
I watched the lawyers at the state's table have a hushed conversation back and forward with one another.
They learned in close, hands covering their mouths like whispers could hide the truth.
It didn't. Anybody who had spent enough time around courtrooms knew that looked like scrambling.
My lawyer gave me a swift side eye before turning his attention to the judge. He stood slowly, buttoning the front of his jacket like the moment belonged to him. "Your honor, how long do we have to wait for this witness?" My lawyer asked. His voice was steady.
The judge leaned back in his chair slightly.
He turned his eyes toward the prosecution table.
"Is your witness here or not?" He questioned the prosecution.
The DA shifted his weight. He glanced back toward the courtroom doors like maybe somebody would magically appear if he stared long enough.
"Your honor, it seems our witness isn't here.
We would like to ask that the court postpone the trial until our witness is located.
" The DA spoke. A few people in the courtroom shifted in their seats.
My lawyer didn't move. "Absolutely not. You'll have to proceed without her, and any evidence you have from her, the jury will disregard.
" The judge spoke. The words dropped heavy in the room.
The prosecutor looked like a man who had lost control of something important.
He nodded slowly, but the tension in his jaw said enough.
They rested and the Judge indicated the start of closing arguments.
My lawyer didn't waste time. He stood up immediately.
His chair slid back with a soft scrape across the floor before he crossed the room toward the jury.
I stayed seated with my hand folded, watching.
The jury looked tired. My lawyer stood in front of them with both hands resting lightly on the rail.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he started. His voice was smooth.
"The state has spent the last hour presenting you with pieces.
" He paused. Letting the word hang there.
"Pieces of conversations. Pieces of speculation.
Pieces of circumstances." He turned slightly, gesturing toward the prosecution table without looking at them.
"But pieces do not build a truth." The room stayed quiet.
Even the bailiff had stopped shifting his weight near the wall.
"What the state promised you at the beginning of this trial was a witness.
" He looked back toward the empty doorway behind the courtroom benches.
"A witness who could supposedly tie all of this together.
" His hand lifted slightly. The room followed it.
"But that witness is not here." Silence settled heavier.
"And because that witness is not here," he continued, "the law is clear.
" His eyes moved slowly across the jury.
"Anything connected to her testimony must be disregarded.
" He let the words settle. "That leaves the state with speculation.
" A few jurors nodded faintly. "Speculation about conversations that cannot be confirmed.
Speculation about actions they cannot prove.
Speculation about intentions they cannot measure.
But speculation is not evidence." He took one slow step closer to the rail.
"In this country, we do not convict people based on what someone thinks might have happened.
We convict when the truth is undeniable.
" His hand lifted slightly. "And ladies and gentlemen, if the truth were undeniable, " He gestured lightly toward the empty witness stand.
"She would be sitting there." Then he stepped back.
"Thank you." He returned to the defense table and sat beside me.