Page 24 of My Sweet Poison
I explained how it was slanted across Jameson’s chest at the wrong angle.
Blotchy patches of red bloomed on Finkle’s cheeks and down his throat, disappearing into his grimy shirt collar.
He caught the CA’s gaze.
From the way the prosecutor was staring at me, it was obvious he had overheard our conversation. He pivoted and shut off the television.
I hissed through clenched teeth, “Say something!”
Finkle’s brow wrinkled. “What do you want me to say?”
“Object! Tell them the video is a fake.”
He shook his head. “The judge has already ruled it admissible. There is nothing I can do.”
I sat back and stared at him.
He blushed an even deeper shade of red. I’d had my suspicions about Finkle. No one could be that bad of an attorney. But until now, I hadn’t been totally convinced.
“He got to you,” I accused.
“Who?”
“Pierce Worthington, he got to you.”
Finkle shifted in his seat. “I...I...don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How much?”
“Please, Miss Hastings,” he said, casting a fearful glance between the judge and the CA. “Lower your voice.”
Uncaring, I asked again. “How much? How much was my life worth, you slimy piece of shit?”
The judge lowered his glasses onto the tip of his nose and glared down at us both. “Is there a problem, Mr. Finkle?”
“No,” he answered.
“Yes,” I responded.
The judge’s jowls trembled. “What is it this time?”
I stood. “I want a new attorney, Your Honor.”
“Denied.”
“But Your Honor!”
“I said, denied. Now sit down before I hold you in contempt.”
“But the video is fake and my attorney knows it!”
“Not another word!” roared the judge, his outburst causing his glasses to fly off his head and crack against the marble floor.
There was a collective gasp across the courtroom.
The gavel came down hard enough to crack wood. The jury was ordered out. Court was in recess. He then pointed to the two attorneys and ordered them into his chambers.
A bailiff appeared at my elbow before I could get any more words out, ready to drag me back to a small holding room just off the courtroom.
