≫ A Dark Mafia Romance ≪
Francesca "Frankie" is undeniably stunning, her ethereal beauty drawing all eyes towards her. A fusion of classic allure and edgy charm. Francesca is fiercely skilled as a criminal defense lawyer. However, there's a cruel ed...
"We kill everybody, my dear. Some with bullets, some with words, and everybody with our deeds. We drive people into their graves, and neither see it nor feel it."
- Maxim Gorky
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The air in the courtroom hung heavy with anticipation as the spectators awaited the beginning of the trial. The room was hushed, the only sound the shuffling of papers and the occasional cough.
I stood confidently in front of the jury, my hands resting calmly on the podium. I had prepared for this moment for months, gathering evidence, analyzing testimonies and building my case meticulously, and I couldn't wait to finally be over with Taylor Williams's trial to focus my attention on the more pressing matters.
The room was buzzing with energy, reporters eager to get their hands on the latest scoop, and onlookers trying to catch a glimpse of Taylor who stood tall with a seemingly indifferent expression on his face. He had been charged with the brutal rape and murder of a young woman, and the public was baying for justice.
Before committing to defend him, I instructed my team of investigators to delve into the true circumstances surrounding the case. What they unearthed shook the very foundation of the prosecution's narrative. The victim's sister was a drug addict and her husband was an opportunistic, greedy bastard. It became evident that they were seeking to shift the blame onto my affluent client.
The trial had reached its boiling point. Prosecutor Harkins, self-righteous and quick-tempered, rested after delivering an emotional closing statement.
Pointing at Taylor, Prosecutor Harkins added, "You only have to remember one thing - he's guilty." Then he sat down triumphantly.
The room buzzed with uneasy anticipation, all eyes shifting towards me.
The wooden walls of the courtroom felt unbearably warm as I got up from my chair. The usual rustle of hushed murmurs fell eerily silent as I straightened my crisp, charcoal suit jacket. Every eye, filled with a concoction of tension and curiosity, locked onto my form, waiting for the punch that might finally cut through the days of suffocating uncertainty.
I let my gaze sweep across the jury's anxious faces and turned to address the court, my tone remarkably calm, poised, and unwavering. "Your Honor, distinguished members of the jury," I began, drawing in a deep breath, "I understand why we're here, why there has been so much contention and anxiety over this case. My client, Mr. Taylor Williams, stands accused of rape and murder, allegations of the most severe nature."
Glancing at the defendant's table where Taylor sat rigidly, his face pale but composed, I gave him an affirming nod before turning back to the jury. "The Prosecutor is right about one thing, you only need to remember one thing. But that is the reasonable doubt. And as I have demonstrated during this trial, there are plenty."
I approached an easel with blown up images from the crime scene. I walked the jury through, laser pointing at each detail overlooked, tying in each piece of my meticulous defense.
