A/N: I'm sorry if this chapter is a bit boring, but it is necessary. Still, I hope you enjoy it. Much love to tabularasa88 for proofing this story of mine! And a special shout out to Gyllene for fixing my wordpress site! My stories now have chapters!

Ch. 38 – Trial Tested

The next few weeks were a blur of work; late nights and early mornings all spent preparing for trial. I was tired of being the girl who survived the plane crash and a Swedish blizzard, the girl who survived being attacked by a crazed male partner in her own home with her own cast iron skillet, even the now rumored love interest of another male partner at her firm. I wanted to be known as the kick ass lawyer that commanded a courtroom, could pick a jury, cited legal authority as if it was second nature, tore apart opposing witnesses on the stand, shredded opposing counsel's arguments to the court … basically, I wanted to be known for my legal ability, all of the skills and ability I had worked to hone through my three years of law school and this past year at the firm. I didn't want to be known for any of the things that happened to me by circumstance, things over which I had no control and which certainly didn't define who I am. That is what this trial meant to me and I meant to excel at it. And, truth be told, trial was a nice distraction for the ongoing police and internal investigations into the firm theft too.

Actually, the investigation into Bill's wrongdoing had kind of reached a dead end – as dead as his comatose state - at least as far as the police were concerned. Shreveport's finest were not nearly as adept at computer forensic research as Eric's resources, but Eric's resources also weren't 100% legit, so he was very circumspect in what he could share with them. At this point, the police's only real plan was to wait for Bill to wake up and question him as to whom his accomplices were and where the money was. No, Eric's resources were far superior but they would take time. Plus, if they yielded hard evidence, we'd have to decide if and how it could be turned over to the police.

Yes, trial was a nice … and necessary … diversion. I relished the challenge presented by prepping for trial, and Eric was equally in his element. While we were working our case, that was our sole focus. We either temporarily handed off his other cases and clients to other lawyers while we worked on our case, or, if the client and matter could sit, we put them on the back burner until trial was over. Sure, we still found time for each other, but they were hurried kisses, or frenzied bouts of love-making, even half-tired but still sensuous efforts. No, most of our energies were expended on our case, which was thrilling in its own kind of way. Sick? Yeah, but at least Eric shared my affliction.

Eric was the big picture guy. He handled overall strategy and managed our client. I was the details person. Writing the witness examinations based on Eric's overall outlines of what he wanted to elicit from each witness; writing who and how we'd get each document into evidence; anticipating objections and identifying our legal support to testimony or documents that we anticipated opposing counsel would try to admit. I even carefully crafted a juror profile. After all, people were my strength. Even Eric admitted that I seemed to read people really well; getting into their heads so to speak, at least better than he did based on my past experience with my eviction trial. He was ready to let me take somewhat of a lead on jury selection and I was honored that he thought so highly of my skills.

Of course, it did help that at our most recent court hearing on pretrial motions, the AP not so subtly informed Eric she expected me to do more than pass him notes as he took all of witness examinations and cross-examinations. It seemed she really liked to give new lawyers trial experience when the opportunity presented itself. Considering so few cases ever went to trial anymore, those opportunities could take years to get. Since I was still in my first year of practice, I was really lucky.

However, on the morning of trial, I didn't feel so lucky. I felt scared to death. I couldn't even bring myself to eat anything, again I felt like I had before my eviction trial, although this trial was so much worse, so much bigger, the stakes so much higher.

"Breathe Sookie," Eric whispered to me as we walked to the courtroom with our client. I tried to heed his advice and smiled a weak, strained smile. Those few blocks seemed like the longest in my life, like I was walking through a long tunnel. I slowly breathed through my nose, and out through my mouth, taking measured breaths of air. However, every sense seemed sharper, more acute, somehow. On the street, the odors of car emissions and the faint odor of passing homeless people threatened to make me wretch. When we got past security and into the courthouse, the sound of crying babies outside the family courtrooms rankled in my ears. As we walked to our courtroom, the click clack of my heels seemed too loud on the stone floor yet I could do nothing to lessen the reverberations throughout the hallway. The fluorescent lights were too bright in some places, yet too dim in others and my eyes were constantly trying to adjust to the varying light. The smell of cigarette smoke mixed with perfume on people's clothes threatened to overwhelm me in the confined space of the elevator. I had to hold my nose to stop a wave of nausea from overtaking me. Then, the dingy common areas outside the courtrooms revealed the dark smudges from oiled hands, gum stuck under seats and other convenient surfaces, and left me with the feeling that I didn't want to touch anything for fear of germs that undoubtedly thrived in the damp, moldy courthouse. Even the smell of the bailiff's coffee seemed too strong to my senses.

When we finally got into the courtroom and got our things set up I was still having a hard time finding equilibrium. Eric gave Mr. Berger some low, last minute instructions and strict orders not to talk to another person. Then he excused us as he and I went to a private lawyer/client area to chat. Once the door closed behind us, Eric pulled me into a tight hug.

"You can do this. You have worked so hard. You know this case inside and out. I have faith in you," he said, more like a promise than an affirmation.

I breathed in his clean, musky scent. "I'm glad you're so sure," I wavered, trying to calm my stomach. The last thing I needed was to throw up on the counsel's table.

"I am sure," he pulled me back and smiled reassuringly. "And besides, if we lose, we'll appeal. It'll be fine. You'll see. I love you. Now let's go kick some ass," he smirked that cocky sure smirk of his.

While my nerves were still there, I couldn't help but relax in the face of Eric's cool confidence. He was right. We knew this case as well as we ever would. If we lost, it wouldn't be for lack of effort or skill. And if we did lose, we would make sure we had preserved our record for appeal. I straightened myself and my clothes and we gave each other's hands one last squeeze before we walked out to the courtroom and to our counsel table.

"All rise, the Honorable Pascali presiding. All ye having matters to be heard before this court, come forward and ye shall be heard," the bailiff recited.

The AP came in, her black robe decorated with a lacy collar and when she sat down, everyone sat down.

"Counsel," she stated and on command, we stood, ready to begin.

…

The next ten days were a blur. I picked our jury and the AP seemed pleased that Eric vested me with full outward authority to pick our jury, although he and I consulted when we got our jury information sheets. We made sure to include Mr. Berger in our deliberation too. After all, it was his company on trial and he was the face of the company. His connection with jury, however, superficial the fleeting glances were, was still important.

Eric also allowed me to do the opening statement and he did the closing. We evenly divided witnesses, and while he took the opposing side's corporate representative, he allowed me to examine our client. That was strategy. We knew Mr. Berger was a ladies man, so we needed to show him respectfully answering a woman's questions, without any unsavoriness towards it.

At the close of the plaintiff's case, we made a directed verdict motion, which the AP denied. We weren't surprised, but if we lost, and we wanted to move for a judgment notwithstanding the verdict. In order to do that, we had to have made a motion for directed verdict to preserve that argument. And at the close of all of the evidence, we made another motion for a directed verdict, but at that point, we knew the AP would deny the motion. It was safer, more judgment proof, if she allowed the jury to go ahead and decide the case on the record. After all, no judge likes being overturned on appeal.

And then we went to wait, and wait, and wait. And while we waited, we planned our appeal – the issues we'd appeal, the record in support of our arguments. We were hedging our bets because the trial was still fresh and until the jury returned its verdict, there was nothing more we could do. And we couldn't possibly focus on any other cases, not with this one pending. The jury took 12 hours over two days to deliberate. The longer it took, the more worried we got. Typically, long deliberations meant they were talking about damages … how much would they award to the plaintiff.

When we got the call that the jury had made its decision, we made our way to the courthouse, quietly filing into the courtroom. All of our eyes turned silently to the jury as they filed into the jury box, taking their seats, no one making any eye contact with any of the lawyers or litigants, which made me nervous. The AP looked at them and asked, "Has the jury reached a verdict?"

A man in his late 40s rose, a banker I recalled. I remembered we chose him because our case was a complicated anti-trust case and we needed people who were business saavy on our jury. It was a good sign that he was the foreman. Foremen typically were leaders in the deliberation room and other jurors would give weight to what he said. After all, they selected him as their representatiave. And his banking background fit with my juror profile. He stood, cleared his throat and said, "We have your honor." He handed a piece of paper – the verdict form - to the bailiff who took it to the judge. She read it over and nodded her head. "In the matter of Skornsorn Company vs. Avery Corporation, we the jury find in favor of the defendant, Avery Corporation."

Eric had been sitting with his hands clasped tightly in front of him, resting on the desk, and his eyes were fixed on the AP. When the AP read the verdict, reached over quickly, seizing my hand with one of his own and whispered emotionally, "Good job, good job." His whole body seemed to vibrate with his restrained emotion.

"Is this your verdict?" the AP asked the jury foreman for confirmation.

"It is your honor."

"The verdict is unanimous, do the party's want the jury polled?" she asked. That meant having each juror standing and stating the verdict was their decision, but we had no call to ask for that, having won the case, and the plaintiff declined as well.

"Thank you, the jury is dismissed. Thank you for your service."

I looked over and now that the verdict had been read, several of the jurors finally made eye contact with our table and were giving Mr. Berger pleasant smiles and nods. He nodded back in gratitude and then the jury got up and began to file out of the courtroom through the back way, which afforded them some level of privacy. If we wanted, we would be able to contact the jurors and find out what happened during deliberations … that is, if they wanted to talk with us. But that was for later, now was for celebrating. We rose and Eric shook Mr. Berger's hand, then he turned to me, and surprisingly took me into a tight hug and whispered in my hair, "You were fantastic."

Then we celebrated.