A low murmur rippled through the gallery. Evelyn Porter looked up at Isaiah, her eyes wide with panic. The judge was forcing an unproven, unlicensed intern to litigate a multi-million-dollar land dispute against one of the most ruthless corporate defense attorneys in the state. It was a blatant execution order for the case.
Isaiah didn't flinch. He looked at Whitmore's smug face, then up at Judge Caldwell's condescending sneer.
"Your Honor, with all due respect, denying a continuance under these circumstances is highly prejudicial to my clients. Mr. Brentwood is incapacitated," Isaiah stated calmly.
"Are you questioning my ruling in my own courtroom, boy?" Caldwell's face flushed a deep crimson. He leaned forward over the bench, pointing a thick, trembling finger at Isaiah. "You people come into my court thinking you know the law because you read a textbook. You know nothing of the real world. Let me make this abundantly clear: you will proceed today, or I will dismiss this case with prejudice and I will sanction your firm for wasting the court's time."
Isaiah held the judge's furious gaze. "I understand, Your Honor. The plaintiffs are ready to proceed."
Whitmore chuckled audibly.
Judge Caldwell leaned back, a cruel, mocking smile spreading across his face. "You're actually going to try this case?" Caldwell laughed, a dry, rasping sound. He looked at the court reporter. "Make sure you get this down, Brenda. This ought to be taught in law schools as a cautionary tale."
He looked back at Isaiah, his eyes narrowing with venomous certainty.
"Tell you what, Mr. Crawford: since you're so confident in your little crusade, if you win this case, I'll resign as judge."
The courtroom went dead silent. Even Whitmore stopped clicking his pen.
"I accept those terms, Your Honor," Isaiah said, his voice ringing out clearly, cutting through the heavy silence. "And I would like the record to reflect the court's wager."
"The record reflects everything," Caldwell scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "Opening statements begin tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Bring your tissues, Mr. Crawford."
As the gavel slammed, Isaiah packed his briefcase. He offered his arm to Mrs. Porter, escorting her out of the courtroom with quiet dignity. He could feel the eyes of the bailiffs, the gallery, and Whitmore burning into his back.