Page 2 of Final Verdict
“Feelings?” She scoffs. “I’m shocked you even know what those are, Jameson.”
“Me too.” I smile. “I’ve read about them a lot, though.”
“Okay, seriously.” She shakes her head. “How the hell do you sleep at night?”
“I turn off the lights and occasionally put on some rain sounds. Would you like a link to my playlist?”
“I would like you to get fucked.”
“I don’t need any help in that department.”
“I mean, get ‘fucked over’—as in ruined.” She glares at me. “Your client was guilty as sin, and everyone in this courtroom knew it.”
“Everyone exceptthe jury, apparently…”
“They gave the wrong verdict this time.” She stabs a finger against my chest, enunciating every syllable. “Protecting the guilty will come back to haunt you when you least expect it, Jameson. Trust me.”
“I wouldn’t trust you to help me walk across the street.”
“Sooner or later, the devil will come to address the debt you owe him.”
“Do you know if he’ll be paying via cash or check?”
Her face reddens and she lets out an unsteady breath. Then, as if she knows she’ll never—ever—win a war of words with me, her lips curve into an uneven smile.
“Until we meet again, Mr. Jameson,” she says.
Until you lose again, you mean.
I hold back my thoughts and push open the gate for her.
“Have a good night, Miss Bantam.”
She stomps past the pews and out of my sight.
I take one last look around at the empty courtroom, waiting to feel a morsel of regret for tampering with Lady Justice’s scales for a win today, but nothing comes.
The system fucking owes me…
Swinging my briefcase over the gate, I walk past the pews and step into the hallway.
“That prosecutor lady is right, you know?” Clarissa Ridgeland suddenly stands up from a bench. “I heard everything she said to you.”
“I was hoping you’d disappeared somewhere I’d never have to see you again,” I say. “Please go enjoy your freedom.”
“You blatantly lied to that jury.”
“No, I gently stretched the truth.”
“Gently?” She snorts. “I wish you would’ve told them the truth about my past instead of that ‘honor student gone astray’ nonsense you made up.”
“My apologies, Miss Ridgeland,” I say. “Cocaine lover who’s made a decade’s worth of terrible life choices didn’t have that good of a ring to it.”
“I love heroin, not coke.”
“Don’t admit that to anyone else.” I roll my eyes. “I just saved you from serving eight years in prison, so you shouldn’t be complaining about anything. You’re welcome.”
“Yes, well…” She steps closer. “Thanking you is what I wanted to talk to you about.”
