Page 4

IT IS WHAT IT IS

VANESSA

“ M ay I approach the bench, your Honor?”

“Come.” The judge beckoned the man who stood next to Vanessa while she remained seated.

Jason Stone was the lead attorney for this trial which was already in its fourth month.

It was a pretty big case for Mancini, Drexler, & Associates, but keeping their ninety-eight percent success rate was looking dire.

Jace walked over to Judge Bennett along with Alex Patel, the newly-minted hotshot District Attorney for the Bronx, where the case originated.

Patel was all smiles, a shark swimming in the murk of the courtroom who grinned like he was smelling blood.

They conferred in low voices, Judge Bennett’s golden-brown eyes resting on Jace’s handsome face with a slight frown.

She’d inherited the case after they’d motioned for a change in venue to try it up here in Westchester versus down in the city.

She’d worn the same expression since the first day of trial—unpleasant, like there was a bad odor in her courtroom.

Vanessa knew it wasn’t because of Jace. She knew Judge Bennett and found her typically fair and impartial.

It wasn’t even the accusations against their client, which were bad enough.

It was the fact that he had been an insufferable dick who seemed to believe rather openly that the law simply didn’t apply to him and had made it clear he didn’t respect her or anyone else.

Beside her, the client sighed heavily and loudly, no doubt bothered by the inconvenience of having to wait while the attorneys and the judge had their discussion, which was turning heated.

Vanessa glared at him, then fixed her face.

He was an older man, paunchy, with, dry patchy skin and an obvious combover, yet he had the air of someone who believed he was twenty-five and hot.

He rolled his eyes at her and leaned back in his seat, turning to run a lascivious gaze up and down Sandra Park, their clerk, who sat behind them.

Sandy’s face reddened even under her pretty bronze complexion, but she kept her features expressionless.

Claremore had hit on both of them, repeatedly, but they’d both handled it as well as they could.

While this was going on, Vanessa glanced at the jury. Mostly male, mostly white. Their dream jury for Chuck Claremore, the reason Jace had requested a change of venue from the Bronx to this court, up here in the second-wealthiest county in New York state.

The accused was a real estate developer who’d been steamrolling people in an old South Bronx neighborhood near the Bronx River into selling their homes so he could tear down the houses and build luxury waterfront high-rises in their place.

To accomplish this, he’d (allegedly) used every scumbag tactic in the scumbag playbook: bribery, coercion, harassment, solicitation of assault, and finally, arson.

He'd gotten away with it for five years until there was a new sheriff in town, Alex Patel, who was Bronx-born and didn’t play.

Claremore couldn’t charm him, bully him, or pay him off, and had finally been charged with felony murder after the death of a squatter in a building that had been set on fire.

One of the residents whose house had been burned down was staring at her fixedly. He was an older man, in his early seventies, who looked like her late father, Robert Sr., might have now with his mahogany complexion and pecan-brown eyes. The look wasn’t hostile, just sad. She averted her gaze.

Looking at those people’s faces who’d been assaulted or lost their homes entirely made her wither inside each day the trial went on.

But this was the job she’d wanted, right?

Jace and Patel went back to their respective seats. Judge Bennett addressed the room.

“As Mr. Patel failed to inform defense counsel of the introduction of a rather important witness in time for them to prepare for cross examination, I’m going to grant Mr. Stone’s motion for a continuance. Mr. Patel, you knew better than to try to slip someone in last minute.”

“Next time, your Honor, I promise,” Patel said, with a curt nod. Despite this technical loss, his smile was still broad, signaling he knew he had them on the ropes.

“You have a bit less than a month, Mr. Stone, at such time you will return and examine the new witness, plus present your final arguments. Be ready.”

“That’s very generous of you. Thank you, your Honor.”

“Thank the Founding Fathers for the Independence Day holiday and the hotel staff at the swim-up hut for which I have already paid quite a bit for this grace, Mr. Stone. Barring any other unforeseen circumstances, we will reconvene on July 21 st . Until then, court is adjourned.” Judge Bennett banged the gavel, gathered her robes, and stood to depart.

“All rise,” the bailiff instructed.

Everyone rose dutifully, except for Claremore. “Get up,” Jace gritted through clenched teeth.

Outside the courtroom, reporters waited hungrily for the scoop.

Jason Stone, as lead counsel, was surrounded, fielding rapid-fire questions with charm and grace.

Jace was brown-haired, blue-eyed, and movie-star handsome.

He was smart, down-to-earth and funny, not what she’d expected from an Ivy Leaguer when she was assigned to work under him three years ago.

He would have been a perfect ten, if he wasn’t a self-proclaimed and very active manwhore.

“How do you think things went today? Is Claremore headed for prison or the country club?” one reporter asked him.

“Neither. Mr. Claremore is a busy man and needs to get back to managing his properties on behalf of his tenants as soon as possible.”

“It looks like you guys are stalling for time. Does this mean you’re not confident you’re gonna win this one?” another inquired, almost gleefully.

Jace flashed that golden-boy, camera-ready smile.

“When Mr. Claremore is acquitted of these baseless charges, he’s going to go back to doing what he does best, which is helping renew the South Bronx through the development of mixed-income residential spaces and community centers.

The South Bronx has been ignored long enough. Now, if you’ll please excuse us…”

That was bullshit and Jace knew it. But he was a good attorney, dedicated to providing fair representation under the law, as accorded to everyone.

The old man from the courtroom was standing nearby, still gazing squarely at Vanessa. She tried to smile at him but failed.

Claremore’s car pulled up, driven by his associate and alleged chief goon Joe Spallini.

Before he could swagger over to the reporters and say something stupid that would make the public detest him even more, Jace snatched him up by the upper arm and hustled him into the backseat.

Jace slammed the top with his hand, indicating the driver should take off before Claremore could roll down the window and stick his head out.

Then he looked back at her and Sandy with his eyebrows raised.

That was their bat signal to leave and have their post-court huddle. “Come with me, Sand,” Vanessa said.

She glanced at Sandy as she buckled herself into the passenger seat.

Like the alternate universe version of Jace, Sandy was dark-haired and dark-eyed.

She’d attended Howard, a Black Ivy League school, following in the footsteps of her African American mother and her Korean American father.

Sandy’s power couple parents had plans for their daughter to join the family firm as an in-house attorney.

This criminal law clerking stint was for experience only, not meant to be permanent.

“How do you think that went?” Vanessa asked.

Sandy was typically quiet and soft-spoken. It was probably for the best that she’d end up doing corporate law for her parents rather than become a trial attorney.

“I hope he burns,” she said softly, staring out the window at the passing streets. “But for you and Jace’s sake, I hope you win.”

“Yeah,” Vanessa sighed. “It is a dilemma.”

When they reached the old tavern, McSmiley’s, their usual hangout, Jace was standing out front, listening to someone on his cell phone.

He looked disturbed. Indicating they should go on in, he was out there for another fifteen minutes.

Vanessa could see him through the window, his chiseled face etched with concern, while she ordered them their usual round of beers and appetizers.

Finally, he came inside the bar and slid into the bench opposite them with a deep groan. They waited to talk until their waitress brought them their food and drinks.

“So?” Vanessa prodded.

“Okay,” Jace said, clapping his hands together. “Mancini got a call from Claremore the minute his ass hit the backseat. He wants to take the stand when we come back. He’s afraid we’re losing, which we very well probably are, and believes he can convince a jury better than we can.”

Although they’d known this was more than likely going to happen, Vanessa and Sandy groaned in unison.

“For fuck’s sake. He’s going to get ripped apart up there,” Vanessa exclaimed.

And would that be a bad thing?

Jace said, “I know. As bad as that sounds, I’ve got even worse news for you, Watson.

Or good news, depending on how you look at it.

” He rifled his hand through his hair, then took a sip of beer.

“Mancini wants you to handle direct and cross for Claremore’s testimony.

And they want you to give closing arguments. ”

They went silent for a moment, Vanessa and Sandy staring at him.

“Let me take a good guess why.”

Claremore’s aggressive tactics were being called out as discriminatory, as nearly all the victims were Black and brown.

“I know…”

“They think using me is going to pull his ass out of this dumpster fire?” Vanessa asked vehemently.