When I started reading cases back in law school, the fact patterns seemed black and white. Now after years in the courtroom, trials like this had morphed into a mosaic of grays.
Perhaps I should not have tried to figure out who killed Richard Kostas or who stole the files from Benton Dynamics. That was all a diversion from this hearing. I had wanted to determine what really happened and then cut a deal and settle the case out of court. Representing Marisa was not a problem if she were guilty. I had represented plenty of guilty people and always played my role and put on the best defense possible. Despite all the evidence, somehow a part of me believed Marisa was not involved, just as she claimed. Maybe she had nothing to do with the theft, and my hope of finding the missing files and settling the case was just an admission to myself — Marisa was likely innocent, and perhaps I was not up to the job of defending her.
Leaving the men’s room, I walked alone down the corridor at 8:59 a.m. I would spar against top trial attorneys from the law firm of Whitley Roth from Washington, D.C. Benton Dynamics had a team of litigators, researchers, and paralegals. I could have used a team of my own. To get Marisa out of this mess, I probably needed a team of Navy Seals with rocket-propelled grenades. All I had was my briefcase, a yellow legal pad, and a pen. I pulled open the heavy, wooden door and stepped into Courtroom One.
23
“All rise,” a courtroom deputy announced when a tiny light flashed on her desk. The judge’s staff stood up first, followed by everyone in the gallery. The deputy continued, “Silence in court and come to order. Oyez, Oyez, Oyez. The Circuit Court of Chester County is now in session. The Honorable Elaine Arnetti presiding.”
Marisa was in the front row next to Hailey, as far from everyone else as they could be in the crowded room. I slid down the long wooden bench and gave Marisa a quick nod of confidence that I was not exactly feeling inside. Tightening lips were her only response.
A buzz interrupted the stillness, and the door to chambers swung open. Elaine Arnetti entered the courtroom and ascended onto the judge’s bench. Her wide, plain face looked stern as she fluffed out her black robe, sat down, and mumbled, “Please be seated.”
Although both sides of this lawsuit were ready to proceed, the judge lowered the reading glasses perched atop her short gray hair and called three bail reviews. Prisoners in shackles tottered into the court and waited to learn if they would be released or held over.
While the judge dispatched with these hearings, I studied the dark woodgrain patterns of walls that predated the Civil War. Courtroom One was not a prefabricated, sterile box like most modern facilities. The front of the courtroom was an ornate semicircle with inlaid oak panels and crown molding. Hand-lathed balusters supported a curved rail that separated the litigants from the spectators. Four crystal chandeliers hung from an arched plaster ceiling painted sky blue. Without the computer screens and the microphones around the room, visitors might have imagined they had stepped back into the nineteenth century.
Everyone I had spoken with during the past week sat in the gallery. The attorneys from Whitley Roth. Steve Gunther, the new cybersecurity chief at Benton Dynamics. Sheriff Tompkins and FBI Special Agent Wolanski, both probably gripping their handcuffs and plotting to arrest whoever had the stolen KEL drive. Glenn Bernthal sat oddly close to that supposed Chinese professor, Dr. Zhu. Jennifer Rybak spoke quietly to some guy who looked like the man who had dropped her off at Gertrude’s Crab House last Saturday. Her cameraman’s name was Julian or Yulian, but that was all I could recall.
Jennifer smiled and gave me a tiny wave. I smiled back, my thoughts flooded with memories of us sipping wine beside the dark bay last night and later seeing her step into my bedroom wearing only an unbuttoned Oxford shirt. I recalled hearing the soft sound of her bare feet downstairs while I slept fitfully upstairs.
There were about a dozen other spectators I did not recognize.
Of course, Shirley and Joyce sat in the back row and kibitzed. Everyone in the court system knew them well. The two sweet but nosey octogenarians regularly watched court proceedings as free entertainment, at least until their afternoon soap operas started.
After a deputy led prisoners wearing orange jumpsuits out a side door, Judge Arnetti faced the courtroom. “Now onto the regular docket. Looks like we’re scheduled for only one matter. Calling the case of Benton Dynamics v. Richard Kostas and Marisa Dupree.”
The lawyers for the plaintiff hefted large briefcases and file boxes to the trial table on the left. I followed them, turned around, and motioned for Marisa to come forward to the table on the right. She reluctantly stepped into the well and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me.
Judge Arnetti said, “Counsel, please enter your appearances.”
E.J. Nielsen went first. “Thank you, Your Honor. For the record, Edmund J. Nielsen appearing on behalf of the plaintiff, Benton Dynamics, Incorporated. Also present are my colleagues and co-counsel.” He graciously gestured to his associate and local counsel.
“Charlayne O’Malley with Whitley Roth, P.C. Also for the plaintiff.”
“And Donald Haslett.”
Judge Arnetti turned to me and, without saying a word, let me know it was my turn.
“Good morning, Your Honor. For the record, Bryce Seagraves appearing for Defendant Marisa Dupree, who is present in court to my right.”
Judge Arnetti said, “Thank you, Counsel.
