The courtroom was packed today, so full and overflowing that there were actually people clamoring outside the doors, just trying to eavesdrop because there were no seats left in the audience. The room was peppered with gawking onlookers and hawk-eyed reporters alike, all of them eager for a dose of excitement.

It was exactly what Rodney and I had expected to find this morning when we came strolling into the courthouse. Of course, he stayed over at my house last night, and we had even woken up early to shower off together, which had obviously spiraled into a full-blown sex session. My body was invigorated, as though having Rod’s cock in my mouth and his fingers tangled in my damp hair this morning had given me a shot of pure adrenaline to the heart. It hardly mattered at all that neither of us had gotten much sleep.

Hell, I didn’t even need my usual cup of coffee this morning. Just being around Rod, and giving in to the overwhelming, irresistible attraction between us was more than enough to jolt me wide awake. I was still tingling all over from the mind-blowing orgasm he’d given me just hours earlier, his hand wrapped around my cock, pumping it as he rutted against me. I loved the feeling of his shaft stiffening, his balls tightening just before he exploded hot, sticky seed all over my stomach in the shower. I had wanted to suck every drop down my throat, but he’d stopped me, wanting the chance to get me off, too.

I consoled myself with the promise that if things continued on the same trajectory they were on now, we would have plenty of opportunities to fuck each other exactly as much and in whatever manner we wanted to.

We left my house this morning in separate vehicles, at separate times, so that we wouldn’t arrive at the courthouse together. That would have aroused far too much suspicion. And we didn’t want to tip anyone off to the fact that we were working together. That would ruin our entire plot-- the one we were planning to drop in court today, right on top of the unsuspecting witnesses and the judge. It was a huge gamble, but both Rod and I understood now that we had been played for fools, and it was time for some payback. Sure, the vengeance was going to feel pretty damn good, but we also wanted to set things right.

We could see the big picture now that we had zoomed out to look from an objective point of view. That was easier to accomplish once the two of us finally stopped trying to undermine and fight with each other. It was still kind of embarrassing to me to think of how easily both sides of this case used and manipulated us, and how effortlessly we fell into the trap. Never again did I want anyone to use my own aggressive tactics against me. If that meant changing the way I approached a case-- and how I approached my personal life, as well-- then so be it. I was done trying to fill my father’s shoes. I wasn’t like him. I was just as smart, just as skilled, but I had something he didn’t have: a conscience.

And it was from listening to both my logic and my conscience that I realized what we had to do today in court. Rodney and I were on the same page at last, and we were prepared to go the distance to restore the balance and get the right people in trouble.

Now we were in court together, on opposing sides physically, but united in our minds. I glanced sidelong at Rodney, who gave me just the slightest, subtlest smile and nod. Even just that tiny response was enough to give me chills. There was just something about that man that drove me crazy. Judge Ramirez called the court into session and sat down, looking between Rodney and me expectantly.

First order of business?

“I call to the stand Bill Marriott, representative from Southwestern First Bank,” I announced. Bill looked rather bewildered, but I gave him a wink to try and assure him all was well. I needed him to continue trusting me at least for the time being.

“Your own client, Mr. North?” asked Judge Ramirez dubiously.

I nodded. “Yes, Your Honor. I just have some simple questions.”

He waved his hand. “Very well. Go on, then.”

I gave Bill a placid smile as he swaggered up to the stand. I could tell he was a little nervous, with beads of sweat at his temples, but he was still willing to trust me. Good. I needed him to believe in me. I didn’t want to tip him or Delaney off just yet. I walked up to the stand and leaned on the polished wood banister.

“Mr. Marriott, would you characterize the bank that employs you as a respectable, law-abiding institution?” I asked flatly.

A flicker of a frown passed over his face, but he leaned forward and cleared his throat into the microphone before answering simply, “Yes. I would.”

“Good to hear,” I said. “Now, have you ever received complaints of unfair treatment?”

He looked miffed, but responded, “No. Not that I can recall.”

“When was the last time Southwestern First Bank was audited?” I inquired.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand how this has anything to do with the case,” Marriott grumbled. The judge gave me a warning glance.

“I’m just trying to establish for the jury how reputable the bank is,” I said innocently.

“Ask more pertinent questions or move it along, Mr. North,” urged Judge Ramirez.

“No further questions at this time,” I quipped, returning to my desk. Marriott hesitated for a moment, confused by the quick switch, and then came down to sit beside me. I could feel him bristling with annoyance, which only confirmed my suspicions about him. Then Rod stood up.

“Your Honor, I would like to call my client, Mark Delaney, to the stand for questioning,” he announced. The judge gave him a weary look, but reluctantly allowed it. Delaney, unlike Marriott, was unflappable so far. He was both too stupid and too cocky to suspect anything was up just yet. But he would get there sooner or later. He took the stand, smirking as usual. Rod strolled over to lean on the wooden wall that encased the jury seats. That devilish bastard. I had to stifle a grin.

“Mr. Delaney, you come from a long line of well-respected businessmen, don’t you?” Rod asked, though he was facing the jury.

Delaney snorted. “Yes, sir. I do.”

“You grew up in a well-to-do neighborhood?”

“Yeah.”

“How would you characterize your family’s finances?”

Delaney paused, then replied confidently, “The Delaneys have good money. We have always been well-off. We’re hard workers.”

“Good for you,” he said icily. But the coldness in his tone was lost on Delaney. The judge, however, was getting frustrated with our seemingly pointless questions.

“This court has better things to do than watch you two pester your own witnesses, gentlemen. Move on,” prompted the judge. Rod glanced at me and I smiled. I stood back up.

“I would love the opportunity to cross-examine my opponent’s client,” I declared. Rod gave a bow and a flourish, backing away to give me the floor. I sauntered over to the stand, where Delaney was still smirking confidently.

“Mr. Delaney, you seem perfectly comfortable discussing your family’s financial situation, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask some more questions regarding that?” I said.

He shrugged. “Ask away.”

“Great. So, would you tell me about your father? More specifically, his business practices?” I inquired, looking up at him. He stiffened, that smarmy smile faltering for just a moment before he leaned in to answer.

“My father is an amazing man. A hard worker. A genius. He’s a businessman. A big success. We’re all very proud of him,” he replied, each statement sounding vague and scripted. I could sense the jury getting uncomfortable, which was perfect.

“Mhm. That’s sweet,” I said. “But how does he run his business?”

Delaney frowned in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.”

“Okay, my apologies. Let me be more specific,” I said, stroking my chin thoughtfully, as if I didn’t already know exactly what to say. “Is it true that your father has cost the family quite a lot of money in failed business ventures?”

Delaney’s eyes widened and his face went splotchy pink and white. Gotcha.

“My f-father is a shrewd businessman. He knows what he’s doing,” he protested.

“Oh, so he lost all your family’s fortune on purpose, then?” I countered.

“Wh-what? What are you trying to imply?” Delaney spluttered angrily.

“And what about vices? Is it true or false that your father has spent far beyond his means on illicit, unsavory hobbies over the years? Could you tell the court a little more about that?” I went on, doggedly going for the throat.

Judge Ramirez stepped in. “Mr. North, what is the point of this line of questioning?”

I turned to look at him, smiling peacefully. “To better establish the state of the Delaney family’s finances, which is directly relevant to the case,” I answered.

“Fine, but you’re on thin ice,” he warned me.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said, turning back to Delaney, who was pale. “Mr. Delaney, is it true that your family has had to sell off old properties and assets in recent years?”

“Maybe, but--”

“And are those profits intended to keep you all afloat in the real estate and development industry? Or just to cover the bare necessities? Are you personally struggling financially?”

“No. Uh, yes. Kind of. You’re confusing me.”

“I apologize for the confusion. Now, wouldn’t your family being in dire financial straits make it rather difficult for you to qualify for a substantial bank loan?” I asked.

Delaney was sweating like a pig now. He groaned and replied, “Well, no. My father has done business with Southwestern First Bank for years and years and never had a problem.”

Whispers and gasps rolled throughout the courtroom, including the jury panel. Delaney looked totally blindsided, still unaware that he was starting to really incriminate himself.

“Okay, so Southwestern First Bank has been aware of the state of your family’s finances all along, then? Is that what you’re saying?” I pressed him.

Delaney crumpled like a wad of paper. “Y-Yes. I suppose so. Sure.”

“See, that’s the rub, Mr. Delaney. Because if the bank was fully aware of how serious your family’s situation is, then why would they have ever entertained your loan application in the first place?” I pointed out, looking over at the jury. They were all riveted.

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” Delaney retorted.

“Careful, Mr. North,” chided the judge.

“No further questions,” I replied cheerily. I sat back down as Rod stood up and walked up to the stand. Delaney looked a little relieved to have his own attorney there, but that wouldn’t last very long.

“You’re dismissed,” Rod told his client, whose face fell. He hesitated for a moment, then sighed and got off the stand. Rod turned and announced to the courtroom, “I would like to admit a new witness to the stand: Mr. Andrew Sellers, an attorney for Southwestern First Bank.”

“What is your point here, Mr. Barrington?” Judge Ramirez asked warily.

“I promise it will all make sense very soon, Your Honor,” Rod assured him. The guard escorted a pale, skinny man with a receding hairline to the stand. Sellers looked totally at ease, and I knew why. He was here under the assumption that he would be asked just a few simple, basic questions about the loan application. But he was about to find out that was a trick.

My heart was pounding. I knew what was coming next.

Rod cleared his throat and sauntered over to the jury panel, then asked Sellers a straightforward question. “Mr. Sellers, did you attend an attorney convention here in Las Vegas a few weeks ago?”

Sellers frowned, but leaned in and said, “Yes. I did.”

Rodney nodded, then asked the big one: “And at this convention, did you or did you not witness Hudson North approach me and punch me in the face?”

More gasps and scattered whispers around the courtroom. Judge Ramirez looked incensed. “What in the world are you getting at, Mr. Barrington?” he demanded.

“An answer, please, Mr. Sellers. Your Honor, I have a point to this, I swear. But I need an answer.,” prompted Rod.

“I-I can’t say,” he mumbled.

“Answer the question, Mr. Sellers,” urged the judge, to my relief.

The pale man gritted his teeth, knowing he’d been caught. He reluctantly answered, “Yes. I did. I saw Hudson North punch Rodney Barrington in the jaw at the convention.”

Rod nodded, a beatific smile on his handsome face, and said, Thank you, sir. And Your Honor, I would like to request a brief recess so that Mr. North and I could have a private word with you in chambers, if that’s alright.”

Judge Ramirez had caught on. “I wholeheartedly agree. Recess granted. See me in chambers.” He struck the gavel two times as Rod and I exchanged expressions of hope.