"Mr. Carter, this is Marcus Williams. I've made my decision about the plea agreement."
"Smart kid. I'll file the paperwork first thing in the morning."
"No, sir. You misunderstand. I'm rejecting the plea deal, and I'm firing you." The silence on the other end stretched for ten seconds before Carter's voice returned, sharp with disbelief.
"Kid, you're making the biggest mistake of your life."
Marcus looked at his Harvard acceptance letter, now little more than an expensive piece of paper. "Maybe, but it'll be my mistake to make." The courthouse conference room felt like a tomb at eight in the morning.
Marcus sat across from David Carter. The plea agreement spread between them like a poisonous offering. The document required his signature in three places, each one a nail in the coffin of his future. "Last chance, Marcus," Carter said, tapping his pen against the table.
"Sign this. Do 18 months and you'll be out before your 21st birthday. Young enough to rebuild." Marcus stared at the paper that would legally declare him a violent criminal. the words blurred together. "The defendant hereby admits to the charge of armed robbery in the second degree and waives all rights to appeal."
I can't sign something that says I'm a criminal when I'm not. His voice was quiet but steady. Every time someone runs a background check for the rest of my life, they'll see convicted felon. Every job application, every apartment rental, every chance at a future.
Carter leaned back in his chair, studying Marcus like he was examining a particularly stubborn stain. Kid, you think you're the first smart teenager to walk through these doors? You think good grades make you special? Judge Morrison has sent honor students to prison before.
He'll do it again. Marcus reached into his backpack and pulled out a manila folder thick with documents. Mr. Carter, what if I told you I found evidence that proves my innocence? Then I'd tell you that innocent people go to prison every day because they thought evidence mattered more than politics.
Carter's voice carried the weight of a thousand lost cases. This isn't about the truth. This is about statistics and conviction rates and keeping the community happy. But what if? No buts.
Carter stood up, his patience finally exhausted. I'm filing this plea agreement with or without your signature. Judge Morrison expects it on his desk in 1 hour. Marcus watched his court-appointed attorney pack up his briefcase with mechanical efficiency.
This man was supposed to fight for him, to believe in him, to be his voice in a system that had already decided his guilt. Mr. Carter, I'm exercising my constitutional right to represent myself. The lawyer froze midmotion, his hand suspended over his briefcase. What did you just say? Faretta v. California, 1975.