I slept so soundly that night that I almost didn’t wake up with my alarm. I pulled on my court outfit, a conservative cut gray pantsuit, and raced downtown. I parked my car and walked the half-block to the criminal courthouse. A twelve-story structure, half of the floors were filled with holding cells. The building had an entirely separate set of staircases and hallways to transport defendants to the courtrooms. I went through security and passed through the milling crowds awaiting early morning cases, the stressed and bedraggled attorneys, the concerned family members, the disinterested and annoyed jurors. I hustled past all of them toward a bank of elevators and joined the press of people going to the upper floors. Ms. Warner was going to be arraigned on the ninth floor, the high security floor reserved for high profile and capital cases.

Another security station guarded the entrance to the hallway of courtrooms. The hall was filled with figures in suits sitting on benches, some leafing through case files. The tension in the air was palpable. Thankfully, I didn’t have any real responsibilities. I hadn’t passed the bar, so even if I wanted to, I couldn’t sit at the counsel table or speak for the client. I just got to watch. Still, though, my stomach fluttered with excitement. Not only was I going to be at my first criminal arraignment, but I was going to see Asher again. Even though it had only been a few hours since I left the office, I was eager to be in the same room with him.

He hadn’t arrived by the time I got to the hallway, but it was still a few minutes before the courtrooms opened their doors. I had checked on the monitors downstairs, so I knew that Ms. Warner was going to be in Department 103. I found a spot and leaned against the wall, eager for the start of the action.

The doors opened and the sheriff’s deputy who served as one of the court bailiffs, stepped out into the hallway and gave a few instructions to the assembled lawyers and others. Basically ‘be quiet and don’t annoy the judge.’ I filed in and took a seat in the gallery, behind the counsel tables. There was a screened off area with a separate entrance on the side of the courtroom where the defendants were brought in from their holding cells. Asher still hadn’t arrived.

I sat in a chair that had not been updated since the nineties and listened to the whispered conversations around me. Most of the time, arraignments happened in a big cattle call in a special courtroom dedicated to the process, but for higher profile cases, they handled them here. But not everyone here was at the beginning of the trial process, some of the attorneys were preparing to argue pretrial motions. I tried to catch the specifics of what they were saying, but I couldn’t make anything out.

After a few minutes wait, the bailiff called the courtroom to order and the judge swept in. An elegant woman in her fifties, she had black hair down to her shoulders and wore thin glasses perched low on her narrow nose. She had a severe look, but smiled as she settled herself at the bench.

“Good morning, everyone. Let’s get started.”

She nodded to her clerk, who called out the first case. Asher still wasn’t there.

I started to get a bit worried. What was I supposed to do if he didn’t show up? Even if I wasn’t an attorney yet, could I just step in and say ‘not guilty’? This judge didn’t look like someone whose bad side I wanted to be on, and I didn’t want to do anything stupid that would hurt the client, or my future career. But Asher had been very insistent that I be there. Was he planning something like this all along, to throw me into the fire without warning? I couldn’t believe he would be so reckless. He was the kind of guy who seemed to have everything under control at all times. So why hadn’t he shown up?

The first couple of cases were called without our client’s name coming up. The tension built in my shoulders. I hated feeling so impotent. I pulled out my phone to text Asher, but the bailiff caught my eye and gave me a sharp shake of his head and pointed to the door. Then I realized that I didn’t have Asher’s cell number anyway. I put my phone back in my jacket and shifted in my seat.

I listened absentmindedly to the lawyers arguing a pretrial motion. I was so worried about whether Asher would show up on time that I didn’t even catch what it was about. The judge said she would consider their motions and send a ruling the next day. The lawyers gathered their files and left the counsel tables, speaking softly to one another.

The door to the courtroom opened and I whipped my head around to see who it was. He strode in confidently, taking the distance between the entrance and the counsel tables in a few long steps. He walked by without giving me even a cursory glance, without even acknowledging that I was there. He had a case file held loosely at his side and was dressed impeccably again, in a light gray suit, tan shoes, and a pale pink tie and silver tie clip. He nodded to the defense attorney whose hearing had just finished and then walked through the low swinging doors to stand in front of the judge. How did he know Ms. Warner was the next case to be called?

Sure enough, the bailiff’s voice rang out.

“Next case – People of the State of California versus Amber Warner.”

The judge pulled a file onto her desk and glanced over it for a few moments. In the meantime, a door opened at the back of the room and a woman entered the cordoned off space reserved for defendants. She was small, short, and petite. Her light brown hair fell in waves that looked better than I would have expected from someone who had slept that night in jail. My first impression was disbelief. I know you aren’t supposed to judge a book by its cover, but I couldn’t imagine this woman murdering anyone. More than anything else, she looked scared. Of course, fear could make people do violent things, but she didn’t look the violent type. Still, Asher said that he didn’t take on innocent clients; maybe she had done it.

I didn’t have any more time to ponder as the judge got things started.

“Ok, appearances?”

“Reyna Martinez for the People, your honor.”

“Asher Dean for Ms. Warner, your honor.”

The prosecutor was young, probably not more than a couple of years out of law school. I was sure she wasn’t the one who would be trying the case when it really got going. For an arraignment, you could afford to send a less experienced attorney. I imagined that would be what my first few years would be like, doing all of the appearances and jobs that the more senior attorneys didn’t want to do. But then again, the Los Angeles DA’s office was really understaffed. Like most prosecutor’s offices, the attorneys were all overworked, carrying caseloads so burdensome that if they didn’t plea out ninety percent of them, they would never be able to manage. One of the ways that attorneys who defended clients with money could bully the DA was to threaten to take up their time, to force them to actually try the case. It was a shockingly effective tactic.

The judge glanced down at the case file in front of her.

“Mr. Dean, your client is charged with first degree murder, how does she plead?”

“Not guilty, your honor.”

“What are the People requesting for bail?”

“One million dollars, your honor.”

“Your honor, my client has a young child and limited financial means. She cannot afford to be away from home for so long. She is not a flight risk and does not have the means to flee the jurisdiction. She does not even have a passport, your honor.”

“Limited financial means? How’d she afford you, then, Dean?”

“Ms. Martinez, direct your arguments to me,” the judge admonished.

“Apologies, your honor. Mr. Dean is one of the most expensive defense attorneys in the county. Are the People to believe that the defendant cannot afford bail?”

“Mr. Dean?”

“Ms. Martinez flatters me, your honor.” I could see his smile from the side. He was charming, even in the most unromantic of situations. “But my firm is providing our services to Ms. Warner at a substantially reduced rate. One million is excessive, your honor. The defense requests bail be set at one hundred thousand.”

“Your honor, this is a serious crime and the People intend to seek a sentence of life in prison. I would say the defendant has the motivation and the means to flee. The People restate our request for bail to be set at one million.”

The judge sat quietly for a few moments.

“Bail will be set at one hundred thousand. But, Mr. Dean. If anything happens, I am holding you personally responsible.”

“Of course, your honor.”

The judge banged her gavel and announced a fifteen-minute recess. The lawyers whose cases had yet to be called let out a collective hushed groan as the judge disappeared into her chambers. I watched as Asher turned to the prosecutor and said something to her. He spoke quietly, so I couldn’t hear anything. But it must have been funny, because Reyna started laughing and touched Asher on the arm. I felt a twinge of jealous anger. He hadn’t even looked at me and there he was, joking and flirting with another woman?

Reyna gathered her things off the desk and left the room. I followed her with my eyes until she was out the door. When I turned my head around again, Asher was standing in front of me.

“So, you made it. What did you think?”

“Um, you got what you wanted, that’s good.”

He looked at me oddly, as if I had said something completely bizarre.

“Sometimes, getting what you want isn’t good at all.” He broke into a smile. “Of course, in this case it is. See you back at the office.”

And then he strode out of the courtroom. I picked up my bag and followed him out the door, but by the time I got into the hallway, he was gone.