To punctuate his threat, Richard aggressively shoved past her, bumping his shoulder hard into Valerie's. The impact jolted her arm, causing a splash of her hot tea to spill over the rim of her mug and onto her wrist.
Valerie didn't flinch. She didn't scream. She didn't threaten him back. She simply looked down at the spilled tea, then slowly looked up, memorizing every single detail of Richard and Brenda Carmichael's faces: the shape of their jaws, the arrogance in their eyes. She offered them a smile. It was a terrifying, chilling smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Mr. Carmichael, Mrs. Carmichael," Valerie said softly, committing their names to memory. "I highly suggest you head up to your hearing. I wouldn't want you to be late for your judge. You never know how a judge might interpret a lack of punctuality... or a lack of basic human decency."
Richard scoffed, grabbing his wife's arm. "Whatever. Leave the junk car. We're parking in the fire lane. Let's go, Brenda. I'm done breathing the same air as the help."
They stormed off toward the VIP elevators, leaving their massive SUV parked illegally, boxing Valerie's car in.
Valerie watched the elevator doors slide shut behind them. She took out a tissue, gently dabbed the spilled tea from her wrist, and pulled out her cell phone. She dialed a number she knew by heart.
"Hey, Dave," Valerie said, speaking to the head of courthouse security. "This is Valerie. I've got an unauthorized silver G-Wagon in the lower level blocking spot four. Tow it immediately. Maximum impound fee. And Dave? Have them pull the security tapes from the garage for the last ten minutes and send them directly to my clerk's computer."
She hung up, smoothed out her trench coat, and walked toward the private judicial staircase. The day was just getting started.
Up on the third floor, the atmosphere outside Courtroom 302 was tense. Richard and Brenda Carmichael strutted down the marble hallway, shedding their wet coats and handing them off to a harried-looking assistant. They looked pristine, wealthy, and completely untouchable.
Waiting for them outside the heavy oak doors was their attorney, Arthur Pendleton. Arthur was a high-priced corporate litigator, a man who billed thousands of dollars an hour, but today he was sweating. He nervously adjusted his tie as the Carmichaels approached.
"Richard, Brenda, finally," Arthur said, checking his gold Rolex. "We need to go over the strategy one last time before we walk in there."
"Relax, Arthur," Richard dismissed, waving his hand in the air. "It's a simple breach of contract case. Henderson didn't finish the framing on the new commercial property on time. We withheld payment, he sued us for the balance, we countersued him for damages. We crush him, bankrupt his little construction company, and move on. What's the issue?"