"I can't believe this, Sir. I just don't understand why this girl's fame makes her case of more importance than any other. This is completely-"
"Mind your tongue, Prosecutor. You're heading into bad territory; it's time you keep your convictions to yourself and-" The District Attorney sat at his desk with his back to the young lawyer. From behind him, he could hear a fervent scoff.
"And do what? Because, certainly, it won't be protecting justice; and it should be noted that I was hired for my personal convictions. I always put the law first, as is the duty of a lawyer, last time I checked." The dark haired man- merely a boy, in the presence of the D.A of Virginia- paced out of frustration. He had wanted nothing more than to do what was right in the eye of the law. Taking this case ahead of all others, simply on the basis that the victim was the daughter of one US ambassador, was not just in the slightest.
"You need to shut your mouth and follow orders, Hotchner. You're smart as hell, but you let your naivety stand in your way- if you'd just do as you're told, you would get so much farther in your career-"
"I signed up to be a lawyer, not a fame-monger. And I'd rather get nowhere, be second-rate, than take a case simply on its media attention. Anyway, shouldn't this be DC court jurisdiction? She's an ambassador brat."
"The sexual assault occurred at her father's place in Arlington- at a dinner party. She is a victim, Mr. Hotchner; ambassador brat or not, the law promises her a day in court."
"And she'll have it, by God. But not before those who have been waiting." He turned to leave, his anger still radiating in his cheeks, making him flush red. As he was rushing the door, the D.A called him back to the desk.
"You will be taking this case, Mr. Hotchner, or you will be actively searching for a new career path. Here is the file. I've already talked to Miss Prentiss, she will be meeting you in our board room at seven tonight."
Aaron ripped the papers off the wood surface, stowing them in his briefcase with the force one would equate with a violent punch to the face. "I'll be taking a working lunch," he hissed lowly and stormed out into the street.
It was with bitter disdain that the lawyer sorted through the case at the coffee place next door; photos of a ripped thong, a damaged bedroom door, and one of the young woman herself. She was bruised, with a black inkblot beneath the skin of her left eye, as well as deep scratches etched into her flesh below her breasts. He let his eyes wander the picture and allowed, if only momentarily, a feeling of empathy to overwhelm him. He rubbed his thumb over the glossy, two-dimensional face; noting the way her brown eyes still sparkled with a sense of purpose, even in what should have been her darkest moment. Revealed again, having to pose in nothing but a bra and shorts for the cameras after the most intrusive act of all. The prosecutor sighed and called for another coffee.
By the time he slipped into the boardroom at six forty-five, he had worked his way to a professional calm. He could not blame his client for the irresponsible decision if the D.A and he reckoned that it was still his job to represent her in court. He prepped the table by spreading out the evidence, grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge in the attached kitchenette, and taking one last lung-splitting breath to ensure that he was in the frame of mind to continue on in an appropriate manner.
He waited. He waited for nearly an hour, in fact; long enough to start disliking the girl once again, chalking her lateness up to some supposed air of entitlement she felt. With annoyance on his face and in his hands, he had just begun recollecting the papers when the door opened.
"I am so sorry!" It was the victim, Miss Prentiss, wearing a look of apology on a face too genuine to even be remotely related to a political figurehead. "I- I got stuck in traffic and- and, I just knew I was going to be late! I didn't mean to keep you waiting." She threw herself down in the seat beside his, passing him a large Starbucks coffee cup. "A token of apology." She explained it with a self-deprecating smile.
Aaron scoffed to himself, but ended up feeling sympathetic anyway. "It happens to everyone," he commented, "Richmond rush hour is hell. Let's get down to business."
"Wait. Is my apology accepted?" She looked at him with youthful eyes; those vibrant eyes from the photograph that had so thoroughly entranced him. In reality, they were framed by a porcelain face, partnered by thin, pink lips that curved into a most honest grin.
The lawyer grinned softly. "As long as the coffee is black, you have my forgiveness." She looked relieved.