Fatal Convictions

76

Alex practically lived at the office from the time court adjourned on Friday until court reconvened Monday morning. But no matter how early he arrived or how late he left, Shannon was there before him and stayed later.

The rest of the world was getting into the holiday spirit, but for Madison and Associates, there was not a Christmas card or decoration anywhere in the office. There was certainly no tree. Those types of things all took time-the one thing that Khalid Mobassar’s legal team did not have.

By Monday morning, there were documents scattered throughout every square inch of the office. They still needed about ten more days to prepare for the case-and ten more lawyers. And when Alex dragged his weary body out of bed Monday morning, he couldn’t remember the last time he had managed more than five hours of sleep.

Judge Rosenthal used the morning session to resolve the issue of whether to release the transcript from the hearing in his chambers. Media lawyers filed thick briefs and argued at great length. Alex and Taj Deegan both said that there was no reason to release the transcript while they were picking the jury. Judge Rosenthal ultimately decided to take the matter under advisement until the next day.

Alex smiled to himself. The judge would release the transcript, but he would wait until after the jury had been safely selected and sequestered.

By Tuesday afternoon, a jury of twelve members and two alternates was in the box, and Judge Rosenthal promptly released the transcript. Alex made his team, especially Nara, promise not to read or watch any media coverage. Things were about to get even more nasty, and they didn’t need the distraction.

The jurors were predominately white, and eight of the twelve main jurors were women. There was not a Muslim or a person of Middle Eastern descent in sight.

“You call this a jury of his peers?” Alex whispered to Shannon.

“Next time, you pick the jury,” Shannon replied.***

At 10 p.m. on Tuesday, Alex gathered his team in the conference room and cleared off the table. He stood at one end while Shannon, Nara, and Ramona got comfortable in the chairs scattered around the room.

“Ladies and gentleman of the jury, it is my honor to represent Khalid Mobassar…”

It took Alex twenty-five minutes to get through the first dry run of his opening statement. When he finished, the others took turns critiquing his performance. Nara loved it, and Alex could tell that Shannon wanted to roll her eyes. Ramona thought Alex should punch it up a little and give it the kind of drama he brought to his sermons. Shannon said Alex sounded too argumentative. “I don’t want the judge sustaining an objection against us right at the start of the case. I’d rather see you in storytelling mode as opposed to presenting an argument.”

Alex gave the opening a second time, and more critiques followed, sometimes contradicting the first set of critiques. Even Nara pitched in with some suggestions for improvement. Alex tried to keep all the feedback straight for round three.

By the time the clock struck midnight during his third practice session, Alex could feel himself wearing down. His critics, it seemed, were just getting warmed up. Ramona finally broke in and declared that her grandson needed to get some sleep or he might doze off during his own opening. The others agreed, and court was adjourned at 1:10 a.m.

On his way out of the office, Alex glanced at the list on the wall and allowed himself a moment to miss his grandfather. This was the kind of case that John Patrick Madison would have loved. Being the underdog. The world hoping you would lose. A client’s future in his hands. Alex wondered how his grandfather would have approached the opening.

Alex read through the list, though he knew it by heart. Never sue a client over a fee. Even drunk drivers deserve a lawyer; they just don’t deserve us.

Sentence number six, Alex knew, was the result of the tragic accident, caused by a drunk driver, that had killed Alex’s parents. John Patrick Madison had been a firm believer that everybody was entitled to a lawyer, but as he often said, “that doesn’t mean they’re entitled to us.” His grandfather took cases he could believe in. Cases like this one.

And then there was sentence number eight, the one that seemed particularly appropriate tonight: For every case, pray like a saint, and then go fight like the devil.

Alex had certainly been saying his prayers. Tomorrow the battle would begin in earnest.