Chapter 12

The center chair—the seat of the chairwoman—remained empty."Where is she?" Shaw whispered to his lawyer, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple."Playing psychological games. Quiet," Hale hissed back. "Don't give them a reason to scowl."Finally, the side door connected to the executive offices clicked open. The room collectively held its breath as the chairwoman entered.She was wearing a razor-sharp, double-breasted charcoal suit. Her hair was styled immaculately. She carried a thick black binder, which she set down on the center desk with a heavy, authoritative thud.Judge Shaw looked up. He expected to see an older, gray-haired political operative. Instead, he saw the woman in the emerald gown from the gala. And then, as she adjusted her glasses and looked directly down at him, reality slammed into Shaw with the force of a freight train.The wire-rimmed glasses. The sharp cheekbones. The dark, assessing eyes.The faded gray cardigan vanished from his memory, replaced by the terrifying, undeniable truth: the woman sitting in the chairwoman's seat, the woman holding absolute power over his career, his pension, and his future, was the pro se nobody he had humiliated in his courtroom a week ago.Alicia Grant.Shaw let out a strangled gasp—a sound caught halfway between a cough and a whimper. He grabbed the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white as the blood drained entirely from his face, leaving him looking like a ghost. The room began to spin; his heart hammered wildly against his ribs."Greg, what is it? Are you having a heart attack?" Hale whispered urgently, seeing his client's sudden physical collapse.Shaw couldn't speak. He could only point a trembling, fat finger at the chairwoman.

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