My head was pounding as if there was a tiny man inside it banging pots and pans together. I had to slip on my sunglasses as I stepped out of the courthouse and into the aggressive, unrelenting desert sun. It was another scorcher, and another day of grueling testimony and discovery. I had been in court all morning dealing with the Southwestern First Bank case, and by now I was starting to lose my carefully-crafted composure. It took a lot of effort to seem this effortless, and the likes of Rodney Barrington was starting to scratch away at the surface of my thin facade. I knew I had an important reputation to uphold; the notoriety and fame earned by my father over the decades he spent intimidating suspects, dazzling and offending the audience, and making witnesses cry. Granted, I never wanted to be quite as vicious and unpleasant a figure as Chauncey North, but the fact of the matter was, I still needed to prove my strength and determination to everyone. After the gigantic mistake my father made and his subsequent ugly fall from grace, I knew all eyes were on me. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting to see how I would follow up on the legacy he left behind.

So far, I had managed to carve out a pretty solid niche for myself in the world of law. I wasn’t easily intimidated, and I certainly did not shy away from a difficult case. But Rodney Barrington was an obstacle. No, he was an entire obstacle course. And it was a challenge just to keep abreast of him, much less to defeat him. But I had to. I had to emerge victorious. Everything was riding on this, and I couldn’t give up. No matter how exhausted I was.

And damn, was I ever exhausted.

I walked down the steps of the courthouse and headed down the street, my mind pulled in a thousand directions. I walked briskly, afraid that if I slowed down for even a moment I would lose momentum and finally crash. I had been up all night compiling information and writing and rewriting speeches for the courtroom, and I had been lucky enough to have Penelope there with me helping. But around one in the morning, I had sneaked off to use the bathroom and returned to the office to find Pen conked out asleep at the desk, drooling on an old law book, so of course I sent her home. She had apologized profusely to me, but I assured her it was fine. In fact, I still felt very guilty about keeping her there so long. She wasn’t like me. Penelope wasn’t a lone wolf-- she had a loving girlfriend who missed her when she was out late. She had a warm, cozy home to retreat to when the stress of the job got overwhelming. I, however, was on my own. Always had been, probably always would be.

“Jesus, Hud. Maybe think about something a little less depressing,” I muttered to myself as I walked up to the coffee shop. It was my favorite cafe: conveniently located down the street from the courthouse, always playing soft classical music that made it easy for me to focus on my notes, and by now the entire staff of baristas knew my order without my even having to ask. I couldn’t have asked for a better experience. I stepped in and pushed my shades back to rest on my head as I got in line. I sighed, feeling my head pulse with pain. I was just about to reach into my briefcase and take out my aspirin so I could pop a couple of pills when the purple-haired barista called me up next. I opened my mouth to start my order but she interrupted me with a cheery grin.

“Soy caramel macchiato with two extra pumps of espresso, half-sweetened, with a banana and a croissant,” she recited, fiddling with her dangly earring. I smiled through the headache and dropped a five-dollar bill in the tip jar.

“Great memory,” I quipped.

“I always remember the cute ones,” she said coquettishly. I was too stunned by her flirty tone to respond, but luckily she had already moved on to the next customer. I felt a little guilty, as though I were leading her on or something. But then again, most people tended to look at me as a straight man. And I never confirmed nor denied being straight or gay, though it did bother me that nobody seemed to know who I really was. Besides, with my career being front and center in my life, it just seemed inconsequential. My sexuality had no effect on my competence as an attorney, so I just simply ignored it. I assumed one day I might make a bigger deal of it, maybe if I somehow magically managed to find a man who was interested in me. But when would I ever have the time?

I collected my coffee and snack from the end of the barista counter and headed to a small table in the corner, setting down my briefcase and sipping my drink as I looked out the window. It was only about a half hour recess before I had to trudge back into the courtroom. I was dog tired and deflated, and I needed to somehow perk myself back up into fighting condition in the next thirty minutes if I was to have any shot at competing with Rod.

Of course, it wasn’t just my opponent who was making my job harder. The stodgy old men on the Southwestern First Bank executive board were all pains in my ass, and I was eager to get through this case just so I wouldn’t have to deal with them anymore. They complained about everything, from the style of my suit jacket to the pattern of my tie. They whined that my speeches weren’t vicious enough. That my arguments weren’t fierce enough. That my demeanor toward Barrington wasn’t combative enough.

That complaint really confused and annoyed me, because as far as I could tell, I had never before mustered this much aggression for an opponent in the courtroom. I mean, I was known as the Bulldog, so I was always a ferocious competitor, but with Rod, it was even more intense than usual. I was downright hostile toward him, and the tension between us was already at a fever pitch. I truly didn’t understand what more my clients could want from me.

At the very least, it was easy enough to be aggressive toward Rod and his scumbag client, Mark Delaney. That man had the most punchable face I had ever seen. Smarmy and overly self-absorbed, he was everything I hated most in a man. I truly relished the opportunity to bring him out of the shadows, although sometimes our courtroom antics felt more like a bar fight than the pure, shining road to justice. Cross-examining him earlier today had been almost enjoyable.

I spent the half hour re-reading my notes and inhaling my coffee and food, and then I hurriedly got up to leave. As I walked out of the coffeeshop, slipping on my shades, someone bumped into me. I turned to see, to my horror, that it was Rod. He was wearing the same smug, self-satisfied look he always wore, and I had to resist the urge to snarl at him like a damn animal.

“Getting a little heated in the courtroom, huh?” he sneered.

“Easy enough to do when your opponent’s a pompous ass,” I retorted.

He raised an eyebrow. “Careful, Mr. North. You thinking about punching me in the face again? That’d be an easy way out of the trial.”

I chuckled and rolled my eyes. “Don’t tempt me.” I turned and walked briskly away, leaving him behind me. I fumed all the way back to the courtroom, and it took all my strength to keep my hands from curling into fists as he joined me across the room. The judge called court back into session and I settled in for another hour or so of vitriolic back and forth with the man I considered a long-time enemy.

To my annoyance, Rod called Delaney back to the stand and began to hand-feed him easy questions about his finances, clearly designed to (falsely) establish his client as a respectable businessman rather than the failed conman he really was. Rod leaned on the banister and talked to his client conversationally, nodding and smiling as Delaney lied through his teeth about his “profit margins” and “assets.” It was infuriating to watch, but the jury was eating it up. They loved a good narrative, and it was easy for them to believe the story that Delaney was just a good, wholesome businessman being railroaded by a big, scary bank. Rod was doing his best to paint the jury a portrait of a man who was too successful and law-abiding to ever want to commit fraud.

In short, he was lying. And after several minutes of this, I could no longer bite my tongue. I stood up and turned to the judge. “Your Honor, the information Mr. Delaney is sharing now is confidential and should be excluded as evidence,” I said. Rod whipped around with those blue eyes flashing with anger.

“Confidential? For whom? My client is volunteering this information willingly!” he countered.

“Right, but as this so-called evidence is part of my client’s records, as well, it is confidential information that they refuse to volunteer,” I protested.

“Your Honor, Mr. North is clearly just trying to get evidence tossed out.”

“And Mr. Barrington is coercing his client to divulge information that is confidential to the shareholders at Southwestern First Bank,” I quipped.

“Oh, really? And you’re going to just accept that bullshit excuse? How pathetic to see an attorney like yourself being led around by the nose by your own client!” he hissed. My blood ran cold at his startling insult and I instinctively took several aggressive steps toward Rod, who leered at me. The audience gasped as Judge Ramirez stood up and slammed the gavel into the wood.

“Break it up, you two! There will be no showboating or fistfights in my courtroom! This is a proceeding of justice, not some seedy bar brawl. If the two of you cannot learn to control yourselves I will control you myself. Court is adjourned for today, and I sincerely urge you both to take a long, hard look in the mirror and decide whether or not you can act like mature adults,” he scolded. He gestured for both of us to approach as the crowd filed out of the room. The judge lowered his voice and hissed, “Sort out your egos and stop the theatrics by next session on Monday or I will hold you in contempt of court. Have a wonderful weekend, and maybe do some deep thinking or some meditation or something. Get it together!”