CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Actum Primum
New round of t-shirts, girls. This time with current photos. A friend managed to photograph him at his penthouse ?? (@deisebloombastic)
A long sigh blew the hair from my face as I bent down to search for the third pair of shoes I'd swapped in the last ten minutes.
I tossed the burgundy pump onto the reject pile and slipped on the Jimmy Choo—a classic Lucy Black Velvet that made me feel confident and powerful.
I studied the composition in the mirror, and except for my hair, which seemed determined to drive me crazy, everything looked aligned now. The crimson tone of the suit, the satin drape of my blouse. All of it designed to project a fabricated truth.
I wasn't afraid.
I was terrified.
Before starting the car, I checked that my purse on the passenger seat and the case file folder were secure.
I drove without paying much attention to the time or the streets. I couldn't have testified to what I saw along the way, or even confirmed whether I'd followed all the traffic rules.
As I approached the street, it was packed. Reporters, admirers, protesters, and an excessive police presence—all checking every car that neared the perimeter.
Apparently every wealthy person in the city feared being next on the list, which had stirred up the city's political scene and thrown another ton of spotlight on this case.
I parked in the spot reserved for lawyers and headed inside—still chaotic, but quieter.
I walked with long strides and plastic confidence toward the room where I knew I'd find the first person I had unfinished business with.
I didn't ask permission to enter and ignored the busty blonde who tried to stop me from going through the double doors that put me face to face with him.
“Hi, Quinn.” I noticed immediately that he wasn't alone. “Mr. and Mrs. Darwin.”
I hadn't planned this, which was why it now seemed like a bad idea not to have listened to the blonde teenager on the other side of the door.
“Miss Torres.” Will stood up. “I don't think you've met yet.”
“We've only spoken through your lawyer.”
“We refuse to speak with someone capable of defending the indefensible,” Mrs. Darwin responded promptly.
“My job is more than defending the accused. It's ensuring a fair trial,” I responded, knowing this wasn't the answer they wanted to hear.
“What kind of justice is there in protecting a murderer?” Mr. Darwin attacked this time, while Will savored the exchange.
“I'll wait until you're finished.”
I turned to leave, but Mr. Darwin called out to me and rose to his feet.
“Doctor… I know your father. I'm sure he must be so frustrated with your position that for a moment he might wish he were in my place.”
I took a deep breath and turned slowly to face him.
“With all due respect, Mr. and Mrs. Darwin, I'm very sorry for your loss, but having a troubled son doesn't make you an expert on parenting.” I caught how rigid his posture became. “Especially considering the history we'll see today in this courtroom.”
“Helena!” Will reprimanded.
“I'll be waiting outside, Prosecutor Quinn. I'd like a word before the trial begins.”
I didn't wait for confirmation. I simply walked out of the hostile atmosphere that had formed around me, my heart filled with rage but my face wearing the coldest expression I could manage.
After ten minutes, the couple left, but not before casting me a withering look of disapproval. I stood up and slipped into Will's office before he could close the door.
“You crossed every line.”
“I think they got my edited version.”
“What do you want here? I thought you were off the case.”
“Of course you did. You made sure to terrify my father so he'd try one last desperate move.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.” Will poured us coffee. He knew exactly how I liked it, so when he added extra sugar, it was clearly a provocation.
“You're smarter than that. Don't underestimate me.” I took the cup and sipped without complaining, even though it was absurdly sweet.
“And your protégé? Is he prepared to go back to jail?”
“Only if I fail.”
“You know the Petrov case is going to go through.”
“It's a possibility.” I sat down, setting the cup on the table.
“You seem confident.”
“I'm irritated. That makes me dangerously reckless.”
“That's obvious, considering you know what I think about you and your client.”
“I don't know. Tell me,” I said in a mocking tone.
“I’ll wait for the audience to arrive.”
“Of course, your show is for large audiences.” I stood up abruptly. “You know, those tend to be the most generic and weakest.”
“Oh, but you’re going to enjoy this show, Doctor.”
“It’ll make a decent opening act.”
I turned to leave.
“Prosecutor.”
Quinn held my gaze without losing his composure.
“We’re in open waters now. Be careful not to get lost thinking you’ve already memorized the map.”
After leaving Quinn’s office, I needed to find Célie, Joseph, and of course, Dante. But Dante last, so I texted Célie to meet me in the bathroom.
“I can’t believe you actually came.” Célie threw her arms around my neck.
“I wasn’t going to leave you alone with my mess.” My voice came out muffled by her hug.
“He asked about you. I didn’t know what to say.”
“I’ll deal with him later,” I said, swallowing hard. “First, I need you to call Joe and tell him he has a mission.”
I explained my plan to her, and Célie agreed, despite being completely skeptical about my idea’s chances of success. Joe was soon out on the street executing our plan while I took care of one last detail before meeting with Dante.
When she showed up at my house the night before, I knew she was there because he sent her, even though Cherrie K.—or Katherine Thomas, as she introduced herself—said he’d made her promise she wouldn’t come.
We had some physical similarities, though she looked five or six years older than me. Now, sitting across from me while she waited for me to finish the call with Joe, Katherine would never give away her profession.
“You okay?” I asked, noticing her staring at me.
“Very.” She leaned back. “You don’t seem to be.”
I adjusted my posture.
“You don’t have to try so hard. I think deep down I’m only noticing because I’m good at reading people. It’s part of my job.”
“Then stop reading me and focus on what you need to say.”
“I know what I need to do. I already told you, I’m calm.”
“Stay here. When the time is right, Joe, my assistant, will come get you so you can do your part.”
I left Katherine in the room and headed toward my last problem, far less confident than I’d been with the others.
As soon as I approached the room, I felt my body freeze.
I checked my watch. Only fifteen minutes left.
Damn.
When I entered the room, everyone fell silent. Célie immediately stood up and, pulling Joe by the arm, left the room. Dante started to rise too, but I told him to sit, and he obeyed instantly.
When the door closed behind me, I finally looked at him.
Dante was wearing a wine-colored sweater that made his eyes shine. He was perfectly put together, just as I’d instructed Célie to prepare him. Torture for my eyes.
“Raise your right hand,” I ordered. Despite my direct command, he hesitated. “Now, Dante.”
He did.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, nothing but the truth?”
Dante smiled.
“It’s not funny, Mr. Marino,” I reprimanded him, puffing out my chest a little and raising my chin.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, nothing but the truth, without omitting or distorting it in a way that hurts me, that breaks me or harms me? That leaves me comfortable enough to bare myself in front of you, without worrying that your words have too many hidden meanings and it suffocates me…”
The words almost seemed to explode from my mouth.
“Do you swear?”
Dante stretched his fingers and straightened his spine.
“Yes. I swear, Doctor.”
“You can lower your arm. Sit down and tell me everything I don’t know. Even what’s none of my business.”
Dante nodded and sat down.
“Dante,” I called out as a warning. “If you hesitate for even a second, I’ll walk out of this room, and the only time you’ll see my name again will be on our final contract dissolution agreement.”
“I understand. And I agree to the terms, Doctor.”
“Good. Start talking.”
Silence filled the room while William Quinn delivered an impeccable speech in his fitted gray suit, wearing a serene, meticulously rehearsed expression that made him look like a knight in shining armor, even with so much venom dripping from his words.
The wood of the podium creaked under his hands.
“…and here we are, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, walking among the jurors, his voice firm.
“We grew up believing that monsters hide in the basement, but not always. Some of them wear expensive suits, parade charming smiles and heavy surnames, and convince even the most skeptical that they’re just wronged men.
” Quinn looked at me for a second with a veiled smile.
“But justice isn’t made with charm. It’s made with truth. ”
He turned to the jury with his hands clasped behind his back.
“When the evidence is presented and the testimonies heard, remember that what’s on trial here is much more than one man—it’s the dangerous idea that money, influence, and seduction can rewrite reality at will… even when wrapped in sweet words.”
Will stepped back, his gaze landing on me for a second—a brief, confident smile crossing his face, like someone who believes he’s already won. Judge Fisherman nodded in my direction.
“Dr. Torres. Your turn.”
I took a deep breath. Adjusted my shoulders. And walked to the center, my heels echoing like hammers. Every step was a scream held back.
“Prosecutor Quinn is an experienced jurist, and we can’t deny he’s right about one thing.” I looked directly at the jury. “We’re here in search of the truth.”
I paused. Deliberate. Precise.
“And the truth doesn’t hide in suits and catchphrases. It’s a minefield of memories, fears, conveniences, and subjectivities. And that’s why it’s so dangerous in the hands of those whose goal is anything but revealing it.”
I slowly turned on my heels, looking into the eyes of each juror.