Valerie paused. Her fingers stopped adjusting her robe. She looked up at Timothy, a terrifying clarity washing over her features.
"Carmichael," she repeated softly.
"Yes, Your Honor. Richard and Brenda Carmichael. They're a prominent development couple here in the city."
Valerie walked over to her private desktop computer and opened the digital case file. She stared at the names. She read the summary of the case: a massive, wealthy corporation trying to bleed a small, Black-owned contracting business dry over manufactured delays. She looked at the plaintiff profiles.
It was them: the man who had just shoved her; the woman who had just called her "the help."
A slow, dangerous smile crept across Valerie's face. It was the smile of a lioness watching a gazelle wander willingly into a closed pen.
"Timothy," Valerie said, her voice dripping with absolute authority, "tell the bailiff we are ready. And make sure the courtroom audio recorders are turned all the way up. I want every single word of this proceeding captured perfectly."
"Right away, Judge."
Out in the courtroom, the atmosphere was dead silent. David Henderson sat at the plaintiff's table, his hands folded tight, praying for a miracle to save his family's business. At the defense table, Richard and Brenda Carmichael sat with their noses in the air, whispering smugly to each other while Arthur Pendleton nervously organized his files.
Officer Brody, the veteran court bailiff, stepped out from the side door. He was a towering, no-nonsense man who commanded immediate respect.
"All rise!" Officer Brody's voice boomed off the high ceilings, shattering the silence.
Everyone in the courtroom scrambled to their feet. Richard adjusted his expensive suit jacket. Brenda lifted her chin, pasting on a fake, respectful smile for the incoming magistrate.