Page 1 of From the Courtroom to the Court
Prologue
The air brushes her cheeks and her hands grow damper. She stops, wipes them vigorously, then runs her right arm across her face, using her wristband to clean the sweat from her forehead. She's been on this court for three hours and twenty-three minutes, her muscles throbbing, fatigue attacking her from all sides.
The roar of the crowd is deafening, but at this moment, as she prepares to serve, everyone maintains silence, expectant. It's the final match of the open tournament being played in Australia at the Rod Laver Arena in Melbourne Park. The tension hangs thick; the blue of the court seems to shine brighter than ever, screaming, perhaps, that this will be the last time she steps on it.
Leah Walker positions herself at the baseline, takes a deep breath, filling her lungs as much as they allow. She focuses on feeling the grip of her racket, every muscle in her body, every scar that tells her story. A story of triumphs and joys, but also of defeats, pain, tears, and tremendous effort. She breathes in again, she can feel it; this will be the last point of her entire career.
Match point.
She serves with that precision she's spent so many years perfecting, for which she's known worldwide. A sliced forehand that forces her opponent, Dana Wilson, to bend with effort and return the shot with power. Leah watches the ball, ready to move. She does so with an elegance worthy of a veteran athlete and with the fierceness of an elite champion. She takes several steps, distributes her body weight on her feet, and returns a drive like a missile, with all her strength, with all her heart.
The ball kisses the line and Dana Wilson isn't there to lose. She runs and reaches it in the last second, with little strength, the only she can apply, and the ball barely brushes the net.
A faint sound is heard, that of the audience holding their breath.
Leah Walker runs from the back of the court with every muscle screaming in pain. It doesn't matter, it's the last of her career, of that entire story that began when she was just a girl. Of endless training sessions, of coaches giving lessons, of travels, of solitude. Because Leah has loved tennis since she first became aware; her earliest memory is a court, feeling the rough surface with her hands. Then, the dry thud of the ball, the sun on her face, the sweat on her body. That's why she runs as if it were the most important thing in her existence. It is the most important thing in her existence, to leave this place through the front door, to retire as one of the greatest in history.
She hits the ball at an almost impossible angle; her coach turns her neck to understand the play. Leah leaves the ball suspended in the air for a moment, an eternal one, one that would be etched forever before that yellow sphere kisses the doubles line.
Winner. That's what it means. Leah Walker has just won the final.
Her legs lose all strength. Her muscles relax and she falls to her knees. She's no longer exhausted; she has just scored the final point of her story as a tennis player. Melbourne Park goes wild, shaking the court like never before, giving a farewell to the champion, the best. Leah brings her hands to her face and finds it completely soaked; it's not sweat, no. They're tears, it's effort, it's the weight of closing what for her is an entire life.
It's the end. The moment she's been preparing for over the past year has arrived. Leah suffered a most painful meniscus tear followed by a rotator cuff tear. The second she felt the sharp stab in her shoulder, the voice inside screamed that it was time to stop. She thought about it for weeks. She cried every day when she decided to do it. Anne and Natalie, her mothers, hugged her when Leah went to see them and broke down telling them she would announce her retirement. She couldn't go on, her body was exhausted. She spoke with her coach and together they decided that tennis would never forget her name. She did it well; Leah Walker retired in grand style, defeating one of the best players in the world, Dana Wilson, with a spectacular play, with a court packed with people, with all television cameras focused on her.
It's the end, yes, but also immortality.
Chapter 1
The June sun beats down mercilessly on the Walker Elite Sport Club, the tennis club Leah Walker founded after retiring from a brilliant career at thirty-five.
Located on the outskirts of Charleston, the club sprawls across extensive grounds surrounded by century-old oak trees and meticulously maintained gardens.
Inside, a spacious lobby with high ceilings and wooden floors exudes exclusivity. A black marble counter serves as reception, where the staff, always impeccable and led by her mothers, attends to members with discretion. On one wall, a large display case showcases Leah's trophies and career mementos, along with photographs documenting her journey through the world's most prestigious tournaments.
She now teaches anyone who wants to learn regardless of their level, because Leah believes what's important about tennis, like all sports, is that you enjoy it. For this purpose, the club features eight high-end tennis courts: five clay and three hard surface, all illuminated for night games.
It also has two indoor courts with climate control technology and cushioned floors for training regardless of weather. A training zone with ball machines and video analysis helps players perfect their technique. Plus a spa where members can relax after matches or lessons. In short, the club has everything any tennis enthusiast could desire, and Leah loves continuing to dedicate her life to what she enjoys most.
And there she stands, finishing one of those lessons, the last one of the afternoon. Across the net from her is Alison Young, a fourteen-year-old girl whose parents enrolled her in the club to keep her occupied after school, who's turning out to be a prodigy and potential rising star. The girl started purely for fun and now only wishes for the moment she can compete.
In Charleston, South Carolina, the humidity this time of year is unbearable. Leah loves living here, but the summer months drag on endlessly. Sweat trickles down her back, soaks the base of her ponytail, and plasters her shirt to her skin, making her feel uncomfortable. Her racquet grip is damp and though she constantly dries it with a towel, it always returns to its sticky state. But none of that matters. The training session isn't over yet, and she focuses solely on Alison's movements.
"Come on, Alison. Two more," she commands with an authoritative voice.
Leah tosses the ball above her head and hits it with a crisp, powerful serve that makes her racquet cut through the air with a hum.
Alison moves sluggishly. Her sneakers squeak on the scorching court as she chases the ball until she reaches it, but the return shot is weak and lackluster, listless. The ball doesn't even clear the net, and Leah twists her mouth into a grimace.
"What was that, Alison? Use your legs. It's not enough to stretch your arm like the racquet is a fishing net."
Alison lets out an exasperated huff and straightens up, panting. She's as red as a traffic light, with sweat dripping from her chin and temples. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and looks at Leah with a pleading expression.
"I'm dying here," she suddenly says. "It's hellishly hot, Leah. We've been at it for almost two hours, couldn't we call it a day?"
"We have five minutes left," Leah says, unfazed. "Five minutes in which you can make one last effort and use them, or you can waste them. Your choice."
Alison sighs, but positions herself again because her goal is to be like the woman standing before her. Leah sends another ball, this time shorter. The young girl lunges forward and, though she gets there in time, hits a lob that sails over Leah's head and lands deep in the court.
