Chapter 2: Judgment Day

The Pierce Manor
April 30th (7: 56 pm)

The party was downstairs.

(But it wouldn't be a party at Pierce and Kabra's place without a bit of crime and murder, would it?)

Natalie Kabra felt a little dishevelled that night. Yes, even international supermodels could feel 'a little dishevelled'. She'd just returned home from her flight after all,and what she needed right now was sleep. Sleep! Her beauty sleep! Why couldn't Ian understand how crucial it was to keep her skin glowing for the spotlight? This little party of his was going to be the death of her!

Cursing the slow advent of her jet lag and her idiot of a brother, Natalie sighed and dismissed her annoying poor girl had been hovering by her side all night, anxious to be told what to do. "What do I do for you, mistress? Would you like a massage, mistress? Do you think you could use a glass of water, mistress?" Ugh. Amateurs. So eager to prove their pathetic selves useful. That Wyatt girl…or was it White? Wycliffe? Wycherley? Whatever—was being more of a constant pest than an actual handmaiden. The employees her idiot of a brother keeps hiring in this house…Blinky was more suited for this job than anyone else!

Speaking of the old hag, where was Aunt Spasky? It was so much more fun bossing her around and telling her to comb her hair, and powder her face, and iron her skirt, and sweep the floor, and tell her to go choke herself for her entertainment…Irina's eye-twitching mannerism never got old. Natalie was going to have to talk to her brother about Aunt Spasky. Oh, Ian was going to hear it if he'd dared fire her!

She was just about to go downstairs when she suddenly felt an urge…to groaned. Apparently, even international supermodels were humans subjected to these disgusting biological processes.

Natalie thought that going back up the stairs to her private restroom was going to take her some time and stress her legs out, so she decided to go into the manor's public restroom. Ian had it built a long time ago for his guests, he said.

She strolled inside, her heels clicking against the tiles. Hmm, it was a long time since she'd last been here, but yes, even she could appreciate that the manor's public restroom looked prestigious enough, with the beige walls and the neat mirror and that faint pleasant scent and the expensive-looking tiles that bore a classic flowery pattern. She took note of the stalls—the sixth and furthest one was occupied, so she entered in the fourth one, making sure they were one stall apart.

When she was done, she stepped out with a flourish. She approached the sink to wash her hands, squirting soap from the dispenser, and then rubbed her palms together until they were a vanilla-scented, frothy white. Her hands looked like she'd reached for the sky and some fluffy clouds stuck with her. She giggled to herself a little. Soap was one of her childish obsessions that she was glad she'd retained through her adulthood. She liked the feeling of being clean.

Which was why as she was drying her hands with a paper towel, and caught herself in the mirror, she took note of that dirty little wrinkle on her forehead. She frowned. Her lips seemed to need a quick retouch as well. She peered closer to her reflection, incredulous.

How could she have overlooked this the first time?

She sighed. Must be the stress. Walking down the ramp with her head held high among the flashes of lights and shining like a star was supposed to be her dream come true, but now…

She rummaged into her purse for her lipstick. Once she found it, she said aha. But when she looked at herself in the mirror again, she found that she was not alone anymore.

She screamed.

She tried to run away, but whoever this crook was caught her by the arm in an iron grip.

And then there was blood.

And water.

And vomit.

And that pleasant scent, stronger this time, bringing her a taste of euphoria before all her biological processes just shut themselves down.

Permanently.

District Courthouse
May 4th (9: 52 am)

A new day and a new trial.

His first trial.

When he'd first walked into the courthouse in a pair of dashing trousers and an incredibly expensive yet uselessly itchy suit, several people stopped talking and looked at him. A silence befell everyone, and he just stood there, paralyzed. It was a silence that made him want to blurt "Okay hi hello nice to meet y'all g'bye" and run away, but somehow his legs just suddenly couldn't move. Some looks he received were pitiful, some were mocking, and some were indifferent to his existence (thank you, guys, you're my new best friends because Atticus is really bad at being one).

But either way, this wasn't looking so good.

He was just thinking about going back to his safe little bed and forget all about this because damn he's scared, what was I thinking, accepting Hamilton Dolt's case of all cases? How could anyone expect a rookie attorney like Dan Cahill to win what was possibly the most serious of trials of all time? But no, lo and behold, before he could pretend he entered the wrong courthouse and get the hell out of this snake pit, Atticus Rosenbloom just had to find him and pull him deeper into this crazy rabbithole.

"Dan! I've been waiting for you! Whoa, dude." Atticus took a step back and admired his friend. "Did you go shopping yesterday and not tell me?"

"Shopping? Me? No, my sister bought these." She'd been so excited to learn that her brother was going to law school too, so she bought this Armani garb, dreaming of the day to see him wear it one day when he was standing up as an attorney in his own trials.

She would've been proud to see him finally wearing them now.

Atticus smirked. "Awww."

No, no, he was not going to be accused a sentimental sap here and now. "Stop staring at me like that, will you? Look, it would be a shame if I didn't wear them!"

"Okay, right, I get it! But this deserves some documentation…" Atticus slowly reached behind for his backpack and brought out what looked like a scrapbook. The young Rosenbloom pulled Dan by his shoulder as he brought out his phone for a selfie. "Caption: Defence Attorney Dan Cahill in his first trial. Smile!"

"Arrgh!" Blinking away the bright light from his eyes, he pushed the child away. "Atticus!"

But Atticus didn't look up from his phone, still grinning down at the perfect shot of a completely flustered Dan Cahill. He then finally looked up to meet Dan's green glare. "What? This is your first trial!" He pocketed his phone, then showed him the scrapbook. "It's going in this album, baby! I'm so excited for you to get up there and kick their butts!"

At that, some people laughed at the innocence of Atticus Rosenbloom.

"Heh. Amateurs."

"How cute."

"They've got no idea who they're standing up against, huh…"

"They're treating this like a joke!"

Dan couldn't figure out whether Atticus really was just oblivious to the laughter or was deliberately ignoring them. Either way, he could be such a genius, and such an idiot.

"Atticus!" hissed Dan,"Will you put that away? You're embarrassing me!"

"What? I just wanted you to relax a little."

"This isn't helping me relax at all!"

"Look, I know why you got here late. It's because you've been up all night playing." He leaned closer to whisper his next words. "And it's because you're nervous."

Dan reeled back. "What th—shut up, they can hear you!"

"No they can't!"

"Just—put that away!"

"Put what away?"

"That, dammit!"

"The phone?"

"NO! That—that stupid—childish—scrapbook—thingy." Dan was getting annoyed that he can't get annoyed for long. Damn his apparent short attention span. Damn Atticus for triggering him in the first place. Damn Natalie Kabra's murderer for bringing up this stupid trial—oh, whoever you are,DAMN you, because imma bring you to justice!

The only question here was how.

"Just—just—! Aaarrrgh." Who was he kidding. Him, a defence attorney? He couldn't even properly articulate his frustration.

Atticus relented, clearly seeing that his friend was in pain. "Alright alright, Jesus. You're so tense, dude."

"Well, you try wearing my shoes."

"They're too big. You have big feet."

"Exactly! Wait what?"

"Oh, there you are!" sang Reagan, who strode towards them with her athletic legs. Dan had to force his eyes off the legs in question because why is she wearing that short of a skirt?! Goddammit. Looks like the world was out to destroy him utterly. She beamed as she took her place in front of him, her eyes are up THERE, man. "I hope you don't make a habit of going late to your own trials, Dan. It's not going to earn you any points with anyone."

Dan looked away from her gaze and scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah…woke up a bit late."

"From a nightful of playing Mobile Legends," Atticus chimed cheerfully.

He slapped the palms of his hands together. "Okay. Yep. That's it. I'm convinced. The only reason your big mouth survived evolution was that it annoyed others so much they killed themselves."

Atticus looked at him, impressed. "Ooh. So you were listening to my history lessons."

"Oh!" said Reagan, taking note of the teen's presence. "So this is Mr Rosenbloom?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Dan swore Atticus was itching to tip an imaginary hat with that self-righteous smile of his. "The Cahill and Co. Law Offices is glad to be of service."

"Me too, Mr Rosenbloom, me too." Reagan turned back to , unable to hold herself any longer, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and effectively choking him. He staggered, barely able to support her muscly weight. "Thank you, thank you so much for taking the case. I swear we didn't know what to do without you!"

"Heh, technically the state would have given you a lawyer, just technically speaking, but…if you don't mind, we're…getting a bit…" She hugged tighter, meaning tighter wind pipes, meaning difficulty breathing, meaning squeaky voice.

"…cheesy now…"

She released him.

"Sorry." But, no, that bright smile on her face did not look so sorry about almost suffocating him to death, though he supposed he could forgive her because the tears she was wiping with the heel of her hand seemed authentic enough. Reagan gently slapped her cheeks and shook her head as if that would shake away the remaining tears. Straightening up again and smiling like nothing happened, she said, "I'm just so proud you got out of your bed this time."

"Eh…yeah…like I had any choice…"

Before any of the two could say anything, Taylor Swift's Red suddenly exploded out of his pocket, eliciting a few gasps and stares from the people around them.

Dan was oblivious to it until Reagan finally said, "Um, Dan…is that yours?"

Then he realized that the sound was actually coming from his phone.

He turned to see Atticus stifling a giggle. The little asshole. I regret ever teaching you anything about the sacred art of pranking.

He pulled out his phone and shut it up and brought it to his ear.

"What?!"

"Whoa, dude! So intense today. It's just Evan!"

Evan? Who the heck…oh.

Oh.

Evan Tolliver. Nerdy, real clumsy, cute coke-bottle glasses, hacking genius, 'adorkable', and Amy's boyfriend.

Well, one of her boyfriends. The other one was Jake Rosenbloom. Long story short, Amy's death brought the two closer together and now you couldn't find a way to separate them. Providentially, Mark Rosenbloom's team of archaeologists just recently lost their computer man, and Evan Tolliver was a really convenient replacement. Apparently he's in Cairo now to see the Pyramids of Giza after Jake offered him the once-in-a-lifetime chance of seeing the pyramids, which brings them to the trial in question of an Olympic athlete who murdered a supermodel.

"What do you want?"

"Good morning to you too," replied Evan, his enthusiasm unfazed by Dan's sour bite."I just wanted to wish you good luck on your trial! Jake's out there digging, but he sends his love."

Dan barely heard him. "Digging? Isn't it, like, four am there?"

"Four pm, Dan, Cairo is six hours ahead. I wanted to make sure to greet you good luck. I always greeted Amy good luck just before her trials, and let me tell you—it worked like magic."

Great, more people to disappoint. He released a shaky breath as he brought his palm up his sweaty forehead. Sweaty? But the courthouse was air-conditioned.

And wait a moment. Was it just him, or did the floor suddenly shift sideways?

"How the heck," he enunciated, the stress bright and clear with each shaking syllable, "did you know I was going on a trial today?"

"Huh? Oh, Jake told me. And Atticus told Jake, so…news travels fast. Oh, and also, back then," Evan's enthusiasm didn't waver even as he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Back then, I worked as Amy's middleman. Whenever she wanted me to dig up some dirt on somebody, I was on it like a bonnet. So if you need my help, don't hesitate to call me on my emergency number, okay? You have it saved on your phone, right?"

On it like a bonnet. Seriously?

"When I get home," he continued, "I want you to tell me all about how you kicked the prosecution's butt. Every single little detail. So make sure you win!"

Dan couldn't take any more of these crazy expectations and he just wanted him to shut up. "Well, I'd love to chat, but—chrrr—wait…is that…chrrr…chrrr…chrrrrrrrr…the signal is—chrr—off! I guess we're—chrrrr—just too far—chrrrrrrr—away!"

There was a pause.

"That…is not how static sounds like."

"Yeah well, this is how hanging up sounds like!"

When Dan finally thrust his phone back into his pocket, he was met with a pair of chastising glares.

"That wasn't very nice," said a frowning Atticus."He was just trying to help."

"Great. Because you just had to tell them it was my first trial today, meaning more disappointed people once I lost the case. All aboard the shame train! Choo choo! I'm an accident waiting to happen! Anyone else wanna climb aboard?"

Atticus took a step back as if reading his friend from a distance would give him a better view of the entire picture.

"I…think this is the first time I ever saw you being pressured by anything."

"I am NOT pressured!"

"Calm down, will you?" said Atticus, an incredulous sort of laughter caressing his words. While he felt bad for his friend's growing anxiety, the sight of a usually coolheaded Dan being unnerved by anything was kind of…amusing. Well, yes, being unnerved by a murder trial wasn't too inexcusable, but it was amusing nonetheless. "Not everyone here's waiting for you to make a mistake. Everything's gonna turn out fine if you just chillax. Remember," he reached out and patted Dan on the shoulder. "I believe in you, dude."

"Wow. One cheesy line from Atticus Rosenbloom is very reassuring, thanks." If Amy weren't already dead, he would have killed her. She was the one who put him up to this in the first place. Because if she didn't freaking die, she'd be the one taking this case on, not him!

If she didn't freaking take up law school, like their grandmother did, and all the other Cahill generations before that, he wouldn't even have been pressured into taking lawin the first place!

(He'd long realized that he had no one to blame here but himself, though. No one had actually pressured him into taking up law—it was just that he'd been too much of a child back then, too unable to make up a decision on what course he wanted to take for college, that he just mindlessly threw in the towel and just let his heritage—his Cahill name, ever famous for the trail of law court geniuses it left behind—guide his way.

But now it was too late to change the past.)

"If…if it makes any difference…" Reagan was twirling a strand of hair, having bashfully turned away from him to maybe hide that shade of pink that had begun to spread over her cheeks. "I'm…I'm counting on you." Meeting his eyes firmly now, "I believe in you too, Dan."

Here was a girl he sorta-kinda liked back in high school and he had to try not end up falling flat on his face in front of her when everyone else in the courtroom was sticking their foot out from under the table, eager to see him sprawled on the floor just like that.

Yep. No pressure.

He was just scrambling to find something not stupid to reply to her when a new voice joined their conversation, sparing him the agony.

"I BELIEVE IN YOU TOO, DUDE!"

"Oh boy," he said under his breath, the agony quickly returning when he turned to see who it was. "Here comes the giant…"

More like the killer.

His client was dressed in a suit that seemed a couple sizes smaller, and for a moment Dan was afraid the seams were gonna burst. Each step that Hamilton Holt took shook the earth, then he hugged Dan so tight he might as well have been swallowed by the Olympic athlete's bulging muscles. It was when he was so effortlessly lifted off a foot from the ground when Dan began screaming.

"Let—go! Too—much—hugging!" Seriously, what is the problem with these Holts and all their cutesy gooey hugging?

Hamilton let him down. "Dan! Oh, am I glad to see you again, dude! Thank you for taking my case, man!"

Dan eyed Ham. Didn't seem like the type to commit murder, but anyone who can get drunk can do anything out of the blue. His eyes were red and bloodshot…he mustn't have gotten enough sleep. His conscience was bothering him too much last night to get him to sleep, maybe? Or maybe it's just that he can't sleep because he's nervous about his upcoming trial. He couldn't be a murderer…he's too soft-hearted to even hurt a fly. But oh no, could anyone be so sure? With those muscles of his, Dan reckoned that this gentle-looking brute must've gotten into a lot of brawls himself. Killing Natalie Kabra in the females' bathroom, though… That was just too…not Hamilton Holt. He was innocent. Or at least, he looked innocent enough.

But of course, who would want to look guilty?

Dan coughed, covering his disappointment with his fruitless analysis.

"Did—did Madison and your parents come?" Dan drew his eyes away from his client and pretended to brush some dust off his expensive Armani suit.

"Yeah." Hamilton's smile faded at the mention of his family. "They're inside the courtroom already."

"So what do they think about the case?"

"They think I did it."

Ouch. "I'm…I'm sorry." This was the job of a defence attorney, after all: listen to their client's weeping and nod sympathetically at each and every turn.

"Yeah. But Dan," Ham gripped his lawyer's young shoulders and looked right into his eyes as if that alone would be a proof of his sincerity, "you gotta believe me. I didn't do anything."

Dan gulped down that rising sense of dread. They all wanted the same thing here—truth and justice. But that wasn't something he could promise to give him. "I'll do my best." Chuckling a little uncomfortably, Dan pried Hamilton's large sausage fingers off his shoulders. "I'm sorry I couldn't take the case immediately, though."

Ham forced a smile. "That's okay."

"No, really." It was weird to say, but Dan really just didn't want to do the defending. He wanted the Holts to find a better lawyer—not him, because he might fail, and he didn't want to be the one to defend Holt and be the one to blame if he failed, because really, he did believe that Ham was innocent—at least, he couldn't believe he could have the guts to commit murder—it was just that…

How can he find the heart to defend others if he can't even believe he could do it?

They were just about to wrap it up and get to the show already when suddenly, they heard the sound of clapping.

Condescending clapping, it turned out. "Aww. Having a pleasant morning, aren't we."

They turned.

She wore low-heeled tennis shoes and her Levi's-adorned legs were paired by an expensive-looking top that was probably of some foreign brand that he couldn't even begin to pronounce. But the lady wasn't really the scene-stealer here. It was the Englishman beside her who gobbled up the definition of tall, dark, and handsome—all too suddenly, Dan felt ridiculous wearing this suit, because this man effectively put any model to shame by wearing his Armani suitlike some sort of pro.

Ian Kabra removed his designer shades to reveal a pair of dashingly browed amber eyes.

Don't tell me those eyes are designer too.

"Dan Cahill," began Ian patronisingly."Finally out of law school and out in the real world functioning like an adult. Must I congratulate you for managing to get yourself into the shower today?"

Dan sent him a scathing look. "Now you listen here, pal—"

"Look," interrupted Atticus, quick as ever to step up, "there's no need for this. Why don't you get in there so Defence Lawyer Dan Cahill could prepare?" Atticus said the words Defence Lawyer as if the title meant he was the King of England or some junk, and these two passers-by were supposed to kneel before their almighty presence. "We still have a trial to win!"

Ian seemed to be a bit taken aback by the young teen's unfounded confidence. He paused for a moment.

"You…seem so certain of your friend's abilities."

"You bet I am!"

Ian narrowed his eyes. "You have no idea who I am, do you."

"Nope! So scram!"

Dan pulled the kid back before he stepped over the line. "Atticus!"

The doors to the courtroom suddenly opened, and out stepped a sour-looking old woman who served as the court's bailiff. "Sirs, the trial is about to begin. Please enter the courtroom."

Then she went back in.

Cara Pierce-Kabra—for who else could the lady be?—then tiptoed to give her husband a peck on the lips. "Good luck, you."

Ian nodded at her. "Of course, Cara."

Dan blinked after Cara Pierce-Kabra as she walked into the courtroom, leaving Ian out here alone with them. Slowly but surely, Dan was beginning to pick up the pieces.

Why did she just wish him good luck?

"Wait…you don't mean…"

Oh. No.

Ian smiled at him, his acidic mockery practically thickening the very air. "Finally, the idiots have realized at last."

"But—" Dan was scrambling for something to say and was proud to come up with something licit. "This—this isn't even legal. You quit prosecution years ago. And Massachusetts is nowhere near the district you're assigned in!"

"Thank you for informing me of my life story," replied Ian calmly, tucking his glasses into the collar of his suit. "But with the power I hold, you couldn't even imagine how easy it was to...force...the Prosecution Office to allow me back into court, and in the Massachusetts court at that." His eyes sharpened. "I will prosecute this trial myself, Dan Cahill, and don't expect me to go easy on you just because you're Am—" He breathed. "Just because you're a rookie. Before this day ends…" His glare snapped up to Hamilton Holt, who, with all his muscles, couldn't control a flinch and even took a frightened step back.

"…the murderer will begin to spend the rest of his days behind bars for killing my sister."

And that was that. The prosecutor marched in the courtroom, leaving the defence team agape.

"Wait," said Atticus, ever the one to break the ice."So he…he's the sister of the supermodel murdered by our man in steroids here?"

"I didn't murder anybody!"

"Allegedly, Ham, but Atticus, yep. He's the guy."

"The owner of Kabra-Pierce Incorporated?"

"Yep."

"The Ian Kabra, CEO?"

"Yep."

"That former prosecutor who kept kicking defence attorneys' butts?!"

"Dude, YES!"

Atticus faltered. "But—but that's unfair! You're new to this! And he's—like—he's—"

He swallowed.

"He's Ian Kabra!"

"Ugh." And the end of the world hasn't even begun yet. "I know."

Atticus was right to lose hope. Ian Kabra was known to be a ruthless prosecuting attorney who would bring the sky down just to get a guilty verdict. He'd quit being an attorney when he'd inherited his company and became CEO of the highly esteemed Kabra-Pierce Inc., but before all that happened, his career path had been clear—he was destined to be feared by all defence attorneys all over the world for his merciless methods to put their poor clients behind bars. It was rumoured that he'd even plant false evidence against his defendants if it only meant his victory, and it was rumoured that the rumourmonger of the latter rumour had been silenced because Ian Kabra always, always had his ways.

There was only one person who could dance this snake's tango on the court, but because fate was an ass, Dan Cahill wasn't his sister.

This was rapidly becoming his least favourite day ever.

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