“Do I really have to go through all of that?” Heather interrupts. “Because I could thank everyone in one sentence. Yo, peeps, thanks for your attention. Here’s why you should find in our favor.”
I grit my teeth. “No, Heather. You do not have to go through all of that. Do it your own way. Make it your own, but sell the jury on the fact that you are truly grateful for their presence here. We don’t want them pissed off.”
“Fine.” She imperiously waves her wand. “Go ahead.”
Randall bangs his pencil against the desk. “Proceed, counsel.”
“Thanks.” I scowl at both of them. I take a deep breath, gather my thoughts and pick up where I left off. “In the Old Testament, the Jewish people were required to sacrifice a lamb for their sins on a yearly basis. But the lamb that was chosen was special. It had to be a lamb with the nicest wool, the best-looking hooves, the clearest eyes, and the strongest gait. It was, after all, a stand-in for the Lord and therefore must be as perfect as a human-raised lamb could be.”
Randall and Heather are watching my every move now, hanging on every word. I hide a smile of confidence. This story gets people every time.
“The leaders were charged with picking out the lamb, and once chosen, the tribe would cast their sins upon the back of that lamb, that perfect creature. They would confess their cheating, their envy, their blasphemies, and then the leaders would drive that blameless lamb out into the wilderness. It is from that practice we derive the word ‘scapegoat.’”
Heather sucks in a breath, and I give her a nod of acknowledgment. This is how you do it. A movement in the back of the room catches my attention. My eyes widen at the sight of Matty. With a tip of his head, he silently asks if it’s okay that he’s here. Is it? I ask myself. Why not? It’s not like he’s judging me.
I turn back to the fake jury, but my attention is still on the back of the room. I can feel his eyes on me as I spread my hands and once again argue for my client. “Ms. Hartog is the scapegoat for IMC. They designed, produced, and assembled a faulty ice resurfacing machine. Instead of accepting responsibility for this, they want to place the blame on Ms. Hartog, citing operator failure, but the evidence clearly shows that even if Ms. Hartog operated the machine perfectly, the brakes still would have malfunctioned, she still would have been injured, and we would still be here today asking for the same thing—for IMC to be brought to justice. At the beginning of the trial, my co-counsel told you we would prove these three things.” I lift the demonstrative aid identifying the elements of our charge. “And we did. Allow me to revisit a few of the highlights.”
I tick off each element, reminding the fake jury of the key bits of testimony and documentary evidence such as the co-worker who described the previous problems with the machine, the company paperwork that revealed internal concerns about the braking mechanism. Randall starts giving me the wind-up motion. Shoot, eight minutes goes by so fast when you’re having fun.
“Emily Hartog came to you in pieces. She broke her leg, lost her job, her house. Her car was repossessed. You can’t make her completely well again. She’ll always have that limp. But by finding in her favor, you can give her new wings. Thank you.”
Loud, slow clapping booms from the rear of the room. I duck my head in slight embarrassment, but I am proud of what I did. It felt good too.
I stop by my table and address Heather. “So, something like that. Start with a catchy opening, recite the elements of the law. Hit the key points of our case and close with an emotional appeal.”
“Gotcha,” Heather replies with wide eyes.
I busy myself with the papers on the table to hide how pleased I am that she’s finally looking at me as if I’m not the weakest link in this group, that I can actually contribute.
“I think we’re done.” Randall’s voice is gentle, but filled with affection. He knows how much this means to me.
Gratefully, I gather up my stuff and fly to Matty.
“The jury finds the defendant not guilty,” he says instantly.
I grin stupidly. “It’s not that kind of trial, but thank you.”
He hugs me and leans down to give me a soft kiss on the lips. “How about we celebrate the verdict with some food?”
How about we celebrate with some you? I swallow back the naughty words. Instead I say, “That sounds wonderful.”
24
Matty
After watching Lucy make the closing argument, I’m convinced of two things. First, there’s no one better than her to convince Ace to move to safety. And second, why in the hell is she pawning this task off on Heather? The other guy had it right. That Heather girl’s good at curing insomnia but not much else.
“Jesus, that was good. I think you could sell baseballs to a football equipment manager. Here, these round balls are much faster than those oblong pigskins you’re using.” I hold out my hand, pretending to present a ball.
“Plus, no pesky deflation problems,” Luce grins.
I snort. “Why aren’t you doing this for your team? I mean, if that was practice, just off-the-cuff argument, you must be mind-blowing in competition.”
Her grin immediately falls off, and her shoulders hunch up. “It’s actually the reverse. I’m good in practice, good when it doesn’t matter, but during competition? When something is actually on the line? I suck hard.”
“I can’t see it. After watching you back there”—I jerk my head behind us to the practice room—“I just can’t envision you being anything but awesome.”