Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 59287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Thank you.”
I quickly made my way down the hall and into the office, grateful there was no one here to pester me about the sign-in sheet.
Weaving through a maze of floor-to-ceiling shelves, I made a beeline to the “J” aisle and pulled the box marked “Grant Jenkins: Full Docket.”
I took the emergency stairwell up to my chambers and locked myself inside my office.
I rummaged inside the box, searching for the binder named “Inadmissible Evidence—Per Judge Ashton,” and opened it.
The first few pages were copies of things any judge would throw out for a trial—photocopies of “he said, she said” confessions, random high school sports records, and—
I stopped at the sight of a newspaper article.
Grant Jenkins—How He Carries on His Family’s Booming Legacy.
It was a puff piece from a long time ago, from a small town paper that no longer existed.
“If you ever want to know what it feels like to have the weight of your family’s destiny on your shoulders, take a long drive to this small town that sits just outside of upstate New York.”
I skimmed the first sentence and nearly flipped the page, but the byline stopped me.
Olivia S.
Hmmm…
I tapped my finger against my desk, wondering if I could use some of Olivia’s writing background to my advantage for this case. Perhaps I could lighten up on some of her upcoming punishment to give her time to help me with this.
Then again, hell no.
I can handle doing two things at the same damn time.
FRIVOLOUS (ADJ.):
REFERRING TO A LEGAL MOVE IN A LAWSUIT CLEARLY INTENDED MERELY TO HARASS, DELAY OR EMBARRASS THE OPPOSITION.
OLIVIA
“All rise for the honorable Judge Ashton!” The bailiff announced later that morning.
I was tempted to remain seated, but I had a feeling he would notice and use it against me later.
Looking sexy as hell in his robe, he emerged from his hellhole and settled onto his bench.
“You may all be seated,” he said.
“Pay close attention to Mara,” his secretary softly whispered to my left. “She wants you to see the flow of the court this week since you may have to step in for her on certain days.”
“Like, the day she gets sick or something?”
“Or, whenever she feels like taking a week or two off.”
“We get to decide when we take vacations?”
“She does.” She shot me a pointed look. “Only her.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s Judge Ashton’s favorite.” She paused as Mara read a case number aloud. “I used to think they were fucking each other.”
A pang of envy hit my chest, and I wasn’t sure why.
“They weren’t?” I asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think he’s ever slept with anyone who works for him.”
“Too honorable?”
“Please…” she scoffed. “It’s because he gets his rocks off by making people miserable.”
I snorted. “That actually makes perfect sense.”
“Miss Spencer.” He looked up from his folder, his eyes meeting mine all the way in the back row.
Everyone was now staring at me, as if I was the jerk.
“There’s no talking allowed in my courtroom,” he said. “Unless it’s with me. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” I gritted my teeth. “I understand.”
“Good.” He returned his attention to his case while I silently seethed.
You’re lucky I’m too broke to quit…
The moment he banged his gavel and dismissed the court for lunch, I slipped into the hallway and headed to the luxurious coffee break room.
I gulped down two mugs of hazelnut blend for myself before grabbing a coffee cart and putting in the orders for the chambers staff.
Luckily for me, the baristas already knew his staff’s orders by heart.
They must’ve also assumed I wouldn’t last too long here because they simply wrote “New Ashton Clerk” on my cup instead of asking for my name.
I took my time rolling it to the elevator, trying to savor every precious second away from Judge Ashton’s gaze.
When I returned to his chambers, he was leaning against the edge of my desk, waiting for me.
“Good afternoon, Miss Spencer,” he said. “Are you having a good second day on your job?”
“Not really…”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Sure you are.
“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” he asked.
“Is that a real or rhetorical question?”
“The latter, obviously.” He handed a blue binder to me. “You have a new and important assignment to handle and it’s time sensitive.”
“What is it?” I was almost too scared to ask.
“I need you to look into as much information as you can on a former DUI and tragic death case of mine,” he said.
“I want you to do a deep dive on details that didn’t make it to court, facts that might make a jury sympathetic, and things that only a former journalist like yourself would catch.”
“I’m confused,” I said. “Are you asking me to write an article?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Just compile all the research like you’re about to write an article.”