Page 3 of From the Courtroom to the Court
From her seat by a window, Leah can see the cobblestone street illuminated by antique lanterns, with the night breeze gently rustling the oak leaves a breeze she would have appreciated having while training under that merciless sun this afternoon.
"Do you know what you're going to order?" Anne asks, looking at the menu through her thick-framed glasses.
"Leah needs some energy. Alison drained her dry," Mia jokes, eliciting hearty laughter from all the women.
Chapter 2
"I object, Your Honor," attorney Emily Harris says with firmness and a tone that leaves no doubt about what she's about to say. "That statement has no foundation whatsoever. Mr. Robbinson is making a claim about my client's intentions without presenting any concrete evidence to support it."
The lawyer assigned to the case, Dan Robbinson, lets out an involuntary snort. They've been going down this same path throughout the entire trial, and he's starting to get fed up. From the moment they assigned him the case and told him the defense attorney would be Emily Harris, he knew with certainty that the criminal proceedings would be, literally, a bloodbath. The only daughter of well-known attorneys George and Bilma Harris is one of the best in the country. At thirty-five, she possesses impeccable knowledge of criminal and corporate law, capable of reciting from memory whatever articles of law she wishes to present without missing a single comma. Daniel Mercer, the defendant, is a highly influential businessman from South Carolina accused by the state of fraud and embezzlement. According to the prosecution, the man diverted millions of dollars from the company to buy luxurious yachts and apartments in the Caribbean. Emily has been relentless and, throughout the trial so far, has presented evidence refuting each of the opposing party's complaints.
"Mr. Mercer's mistake was trusting his partners, but is that a crime?" Emily asks. "We've seen documents confirming that my client is nothing more than the victim of partners who manipulated him within his own company."
The attorney straightens some documents on the table.
"The prosecution's task was clear: prove beyond all reasonable doubt that he committed a crime," says the lawyer, pointing for a tenth of a second at the attorney. "It's clear they've failed. Daniel Mercer legally purchased all his assets with the profits his company has generated year after year. He's paid all his taxes and contributed to society. He's an exemplary citizen, and this is nothing more than a witch hunt."
Emily finishes her closing argument, and attorney Robbinson clenches his teeth. He's a seasoned man, and it feels like a kick to the liver for Emily to embarrass him this way. He watches as she takes her seat next to her client, whispers something in his ear, and they both smile discreetly. All that remains is to wait for the judge's decision.
After a brief recess, everyone returns to the courtroom to hear the decision about Daniel Mercer's future. Emily is calm, confident, first because she fully believes in her client and knows he's innocent, and second because the opposing party has done nothing but present absurd evidence without any foundation. She's certain the presiding judge had to restrain himself from suspending this circus on multiple occasions.
"Attorneys, Mr. Mercer, the court has reached its decision. On the charge of corporate fraud and embezzlement, I find the defendant: not guilty."
Emily smiles and stands up. Daniel Mercer shakes her hand emotionally while thanking her for her work. It's been a hellish few months, and thanks to her, it's all over.
"Harris," Robbinson spits out without saying anything more. He grabs the folders from the table he occupied and turns around, angry, with a furrowed brow.
Emily leaves the courtroom and walks through the hallways of the Charleston County Courthouse. She can't help but observe it as always, with curiosity. It's an imposing structure that reminds her of those buildings she saw in photos when she was in college, marble floors so polished you can see your reflection. Everything in that place is solemnity and bureaucracy, with its vaulted ceiling and wooden benches distributed along the wide corridors.
Attorney Harris exits the building, and Charleston's humid air fills her nostrils, carrying with it the briny aroma of the nearby port. She earns glances from some passersby, as Emily doesn't go unnoticed with her military green tailored suit, her black heels, and her leather briefcase of the same color. Her hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, she always styles it the same way when she has a trial, and adorns herself with few pieces of jewelry that give her a sophisticated air.
"Congratulations, counselor," says a tall woman who walks toward her with exquisite elegance. "Looks like you really gave Dan Robbinson a run for his money."
Emily smiles and approaches Bilma, her mother and also the owner of Harris & Associates. They share a prolonged hug, one of those that mother and daughter share when the relationship between them is respectful and full of love.
"Dan needs to update his approach," Emily replies as they begin walking along the sidewalk. "He's stuck in old-school methods that only lead him to constant failure."
Bilma agrees. Some lawyers refuse to get on board with new approaches, and it shows when they go to trial and, most certainly, end up defeated.
"Since you've given them such a beating, choose if you want to walk to the firm or call a car," her mother suggests.
Emily pretends to think about her option, although she already has it quite clear.
"Walk," she decides a second later.
Her mother makes a face with her lips and crosses the street to avoid the direct sun. At this time of year, the city enters an unbearable climate between high temperatures and oppressive humidity, but Emily Harris always prefers to be in motion; for her, sitting still is the closest thing to torture.
"What were you doing at the courthouse?"
"Filing a petition with Judge Ford," Bilma answers and wrinkles her nose. "That woman gives me the creeps."
Emily lets out a laugh.
"Me too. Ever since she kicked Dad out of that trial years ago, it seems the Harrises aren't exactly her favorite people," Emily concludes, certain that Andrea Ford hates them all equally.
They turn down one of the streets; Harris & Associates is just a few blocks from the courthouse. They cross a park that at this hour is full of children playing, running around, and laughing. In the middle of summer, school vacations have been underway for days, and the bustle is noticeable in the streets. Emily watches them enjoy themselves, remembering when she was about that age and how she, clumsy from birth, spent more time on the ground than playing. She was happy, didn't mind falling, she just needed to be in motion, to run, to feel the air rushing across her face.
"Lady, over here!" shouts one of the children in the park. A rather worn ball rolls toward Bilma.
