Page 45 of Pleading Innocence

Tiffany approached the bench, her gait smooth and her slick ponytail swinging as she walked with purpose. I sent one of my other colleagues to approach the bench with her, not wanting her to see that she had me squirming. But it was okay. Her team was probably just pulling something out of their ass.

“We’d like to call an expert witness to the stand,” she said, and it was like a dramatic thud preceded her words.

Expert witness? For WHAT? I didn’t realize it until I looked down that my feet had started to shake, and I pressed them into the ground to stop them. Nervousness wasn’t familiar to me—but neither was not knowing everything before coming to court. The fact that something might have slipped past me, something a novice was able to pick up, was pricking my skin. Okay, maybe they actually had a strategy and weren't pulling a rabbit out of a hat out of thin air after all.

I felt myself leaning forward and the skin in my forehead tightening. Who was this expert witness?

“Your honor, we’d like to call Dr. Stanford to the stand,” Tiffany said.

“For what purpose?” the judge inquired—rightfully so, since up until this point, there were no witnesses called. What were they going to testify about? That they knew the defendant was not withholding rent when all the evidence pointed to the fact that she was? There was no need for a witness before now, before it became about the client’s health and shit. I clutched to the hope that the judge would dismiss her attempt to call a witness without prior notice.

“Right, your honor,” Tiffany said, looking down at her papers. Her hands were shaking slightly as she shuffled them but she rounded her shoulders and regained her composure so fast, no one would have caught it if they weren’t studying her every move like a creep. It was impressive. The nerves were there and gone in a millisecond. For a moment, I found myself wanting to reach out and soothe those shoulders for her.

But I had to remember where we were and what was happening. We weren’t playing for the same team—we were opponents. And I wasn’t a fucking creep, damn it. I pulled my eyes away from her though my back ached and stomach burned with how hard my heart was racing. Clearing my throat, I straightened my tie and shuffled in my chair to sit straight up, hoping it would help to settle the nerves.

“Dr. Stanford is a medical professional whose opinion is worth hearing. He can provide insight on our client’s medical records,” she said.

I narrowed my brows, focusing my eyes straight ahead. What wasn’t she saying?

“Has Dr. Stanford ever evaluated the defendant?” the judge asked.

“No, your honor,” she started, and I let out an audible gasp, jerking forward and throwing my hand up in the air as relief washed through me. It was an involuntary reaction, I couldn’t help it. My head spun around before I could stop it and I saw Tiffany clench her jaw in reaction, and I was loving it because I was right. They had nothing.

Sighing, I sat back in my chair, smirking at my client and holding my head in my hand to prevent myself from looking at her embarrassing attempt to go up against me and try to win with absolutely nothing.

“But they will help us analyze the client’s records, which is a key piece of evidence, your honor, and help to bring clarity to documents that we might not understand since we are not professionals. Your honor, this expert’s unbiased opinions will just be a clear and harmless analysis of the facts and they will act as someone who can explain the findings to us in terms that we can understand,” Tiffany continued.

The fact that I could see that what she was saying could make sense logically had me flying up out of my seat so fast, my chair jerked on its back legs, almost tumbling over. Lawfully, I felt the urgent need to remind the judge to play by the rules.

“Objection, your honor. This whole witness calls for speculation,” I said with an agitated shrug toward Tiffany. Tiffany took a deep breath over the tiny microphone in front of her.

“Overruled,” the judge said, returning a shrug my way. “It can’t hurt, can it?” he said.

My mouth fell open. I could not believe the absurdity of allowing a witness with no connection whatsoever to the case to testify. I was right about a lot of things today, including the fact that this was a fucking circus! Unbelievable.

“Thank you, your honor.” Tiffany smiled. Sitting back down in complete bewilderment, I watched as a bailiff left the room and returned with an older gentleman with graying hair who looked like he was trying hard not to faint with each step he took. Well, at least I wasn’t the only one about to pass the fuck out over here. At least his discomfort gave me something else to focus on other than my own. Thank goodness there wasn’t a gallery; I couldn’t imagine how the man would react if he had a larger audience. His heart would probably give out. It was hard to watch.

Yet as Tiffany smiled at him with such softness and encouragement, my stupid lips tried to mimick hers. As soon as the corner of my mouth began to tilt upward though, I caught myself, dragging it back into a straight line. Nothing about her was going to be allowed to penetrate my defenses.

“Good morning, Mr. Stanford, would you please introduce yourself to the court?” she said.

Her voice was gentle with him as if she recognized his nerves and cared enough about him to make him comfortable. I tried to convince myself that it was just for show and because he was a witness that would benefit her case. I tried to pull on my resentment toward her to keep myself from feeling the warmth that emanated from her exchange with this witness. But the more she nodded and listened to him, asking questions that were spot on, getting through the objections with ease, the less resistance I could manage to hold within myself toward her. It was easier just to acknowledge the irritating fact that she was good.

After I objected again, due to speculation, she reworded her question. “Mr. Stanford, without saying that it is or isn’t, would you agree that these symptoms are consistent with the symptoms of asbestos poisoning?” she asked.

“Yes.” The client nodded.

“And would you also agree that these symptoms could get in the way of my client’s livelihood?” she asked.

“Yes, asbestos poisoning can be debilitating, and in some cases even fatal if left untreated…” The witness started talking too much.

“Objection, your honor. Non-responsive,” I said in desperation. “It’s a yes or no question.” I didn’t want the doctor to spill all the beans over there. It wouldn’t help my attempt when cross-examining the witness since I hadn’t had enough time to research in advance to determine how to counteract his claims.

“Your honor, the witness was answering the question,” Tiffany stated, giving me the side-eye.

“Overruled,” the judge responded with a smirk that made me feel like he was enjoying this back and forth between us. I was not. I’d never been so uncomfortable in a courtroom in my entire life. The chair, though padded, felt too hard on my ass all of a sudden, too small for my body.

Shit, I was being beaten from all angles, and bile attacked my tongue. My heart plummeted and it felt like I would just end up regurgitating my slushed-up heart through my mouth. Whether or not her team pulled this out of their ass, she was doing a pretty damn convincing job that could end up fucking our client over, and the judge was eating it up.