"What are you working on?" Brenda's hand roams over the stack of news articles on the table in front of me.

"My interview is tomorrow. I'm just studying up on some of the already existing drug court programs in the state. This one is doing well, and the demographics are similar. It's promising." I scoot a copy of a news article toward her about a drug court program in Muhlenberg County that cut overdoses in half and property crimes by one third in its first three years.

She squeezes my shoulder. "I'm proud of you, for going forward with the interview with Judge Ward, even after everything that has happened with the Montgomerys." My entire body freezes. That's the first time I ever recall my mother saying she was proud of me for anything. It feels weird. Good, but also uncomfortable. Like I can't entirely trust the feeling. As far as we've come, we still have so far to go.

"Thanks."

"You hungry? I was going to fix spaghetti for Eliza." My stomach silently rumbles. I'm starving. I turn and look out the window at Martha's driveway across the street. It's still empty. James should have been there half an hour ago. He probably stopped to repair some leaky pipe at Roasters, or clean up a spill that only he noticed. I grin at the thought.

"You're in an awful good mood." My mom is observant. I'm going to have to be careful with her.

"I had the best time in Cincinnati. It was great to catch up with old friends." The lie I rehearsed comes out a little too easy. She seems convinced because she turns to pull ingredients from the fridge, dropping the subject. I grab my cell and text James.

I set the phone aside and resume preparing for my interview. When I clear my stuff off the table for Eliza's lunch fifteen minutes later, I check my phone again. He read my message, but didn't respond. I text him again.

He reads it immediately. Three little dots jump at the bottom of the screen, then disappear. My phone vibrates in my hand. I silence it, rush down the hall to my room, and shut the door.

"Hey. I've been watching Martha's driveway for an hour. Where are you?" There's only silence on the other end of the line. I pull the phone away from my face and confirm the call is still connected. "James? Hello?" The line goes dead.

I call him back immediately and it goes straight to voicemail. A cold chill runs up my spine. It's one thing for him James to get sidetracked, but he would never hang up on me. I grab my keys and rush to the door, convinced something is wrong.

"Where are you going?" Brenda shouts. I run onto the porch and run directly into Martha.

"It's James," she whispers. "He just called me from jail."

I shush her and lightly push her back. I step onto the porch and close the door behind me.

"Why was he arrested?" 

"Assaulting a police officer."

Wyatt. 

James is the most self-controlled, disciplined man I know. I can't see him snapping at Wyatt without serious provocation. What's more likely is that Wyatt set him up. But how?

"Do you have bail money?" I whisper to her.

"They won't post bail since he was already on probation. They're holding him until his first appearance tomorrow afternoon. I'm calling Lloyd Brooks now."

"Wait," I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger, trying to stave off the building headache.  Lloyd Brooks is the only lawyer in town, a bit of a jack-of-all-trades. He  doesn't specialize in criminal law, and I saw his car parked at the Montgomerys' far too many times growing up for me to trust him with this.

"I don't trust Lloyd."

"Well, what's our other option? Do you know any lawyers?"

"No, but I know someone who does."  

***

I'm relieved to see Anna's Mercedes parked in front of the apartment when I pull up. 

"Anna!" I call, tentatively. I shut the apartment door behind me quietly and cross to the kitchen. She's leaning against the counter eating a bowl of cereal. A drop of milk drips from the edge of the spoon and lands on the "I" in the "Princeton Law" logo on her chest. 

"Oh, damn," she mutters, looking down as she wipes her shirt.

She finally looks up, and her hand freezes midair. "What's wrong?"

"I need legal advice. What kind of law did you say your dad does?" I silently pray it's criminal law.

"Civil rights mostly. First Amendment protest rights, things like that. Basically, anything that lands him on CNN or causes him to go viral." She rolls her eyes. My heart sinks. The odds of him being willing or able to help out on such a small case where there absolutely cannot be any publicity is a long shot, but maybe his office can at least put me in touch with someone who could help.

"Does anyone he works with do any criminal law?"

Anna's face falls. She reaches forward and pulls me into a hug. "Oh, Blaise. Is it your mom?"

She pulls back and I sigh. I don't say yes, but I don't say no either, letting her make her assumption. She doesn't press further and instead reaches over to the shelf and grabs her phone.

"Of course, I'll call him."

As soon as Anna starts the conversation with her dad, I feel envious. Most of the time she talks about her dad like he's an embarrassing nuisance, but I can tell in the way she speaks to him that she loves him. She rolls her eyes and makes mocking gestures as she cajoles him into taking time out of what sounds like an ambitiously busy schedule to talk to me, but she smiles the entire time. It sounds like it's going to cost her scheduled weekly calls all semester, and a dinner this week, but Anna's negotiations with her father finally come to an end, and she extends the phone out to me. 

"You've got half an hour. It's the best I could do," she winks.  I pull the phone up to my ear but hesitate before I talk. Anna is standing just feet from me, staring at me. 

"Do you mind if I take this in my room?" I nod toward my open bedroom door.

"Oh, of course." She steps out of my way and allows me to pass. I tuck Anna's phone between my cheek and shoulder. I wait until I'm in the room and shut the door before I speak.

"Thank you so much for helping me, Mr. Drake. It really means a lot."

"Please, call me Benjamin. And thank you for the leverage. It seems my daughter is entirely too busy and cool to carve out any time for her old man these days. If I have to resort to hard-nosed negotiation to maintain a relationship with her, then so be it. So, tell me what's going on."

"I don't have any money," I blurt. I don't want to be rude, but I heard lawyers can charge hundreds to thousands of dollars per hour, and I don't know that I can afford a minute of Mr. Drake's time.

"This is pro bono." I don't know what that means. When I don't respond, he explains, "It means no charge."

"Oh. Um. Thank you so much. That's so kind."

He laughs. "Please, Miss Evans. I'm a very scary litigator. You can't say things like that and ruin a man's hard-earned reputation," he teases. "Besides, before you start feeling like a charity case, don't. We report our pro bono hours to the bar association and brag about them on our website. The public eats it up. It's very good for business. Now, what can I help you with. You have twenty-seven minutes."

I give him the few background facts I feel comfortable repeating and the details Martha got in her phone call from James. He seems skeptical and explains that he cannot help me unless I trust him with the whole truth. He explains attorney-client privilege and guarantees that since our conversation is for the purpose of seeking legal representation, he can't repeat anything I reveal to him about this case to anyone without my consent.

I sit on my bed and prop my elbows up on the windowsill. I stare out at campus as I tell him the entire background story, from James' and Wyatt's history to Martha's announcement on the front porch. It feels cathartic to get it all off my chest, although I'm still paranoid enough to keep my eyes trained on the landscape beyond the window, keeping an eye out for any sign of a police cruiser or red pickup. Mr. Drake explains that he can't do anything to reverse James's prior conviction or end his probation early. The deadline to appeal has already passed. The best thing to do is to finish his probation, then move to expunge the conviction from his record. But he can help James with the current charges.

"His arraignment is tomorrow afternoon. I'll come down and cover the hearing. He'll plead not guilty and we'll post bail, and then Mr. Bradford and I will see what evidence the State has and take it from there. In the meantime, you should press charges for assault and get an E.P.O. against Officer Montgomery."

"What's an E.P.O.?"

"Emergency protective order. It's what we call restraining orders in Kentucky."

"But this is all public? Right? James's trial? The E.P.O. proceedings? They're all public record? This can't be public. James would never agree to it."

"He can have his freedom or his privacy. Not both. I'm a lawyer, Miss Evans. Not a magician."

"Are there any other options?"

"We don't meet the standard to have the case sealed from the public. Unless the Court and Officer Montgomery agree to drop the charges and voluntarily sign an E.P.O., fighting this publicly is our only option."

"And if they agree? Can that be confidential?"

He laughs again. "Well, sure. You can negotiate confidentiality in any agreement, but why would they agree with any of this? It's the word of two officers against a convicted felon. Even if you could prove Officer Montgomery is lying, there would still be a public hearing, unless you were somehow able to arrange a private meeting with the Judge before tomorrow afternoon's arraignment."

My interview is tomorrow morning. With Judge Ward. A plan starts to form in the recesses of my mind. "And if I could manage that? Would you be able to be here tomorrow morning?" I bite at my cuticles.

"I'm willing to represent Mr. Bradford in Court, but I am not going to be involved in an ex parte meeting with the Judge, without the prosecutor present. That's an ethical violation, and I don't have time for a disciplinary hearing before the bar. But I also have to say I admire your creativity and gumption. I can at least get those agreements together for you."

We finalize the details of the agreements before I end the call. But as I stare at the phone in my hand, my confidence withers. I may have an opportunity to meet with the Judge tomorrow, but I still don't know how I'll convince him to dismiss the charges. 

A creaking noise behind me catches my attention. I spin around on the bed and lurch to a halt. My bedroom door is open, and Hannah fills the doorway. Her face is blanched and frozen in a slack-jawed expression. Shit.

"Hannah? How long have you been standing there?" I demand. 

She shakes her head and reaches into her pocket. She retrieves her phone.

"Hannah. What did you hear?"

"You think Wyatt is framing James." Shit. She heard everything. 

"Why would he do that?" she whispers, the shocked expression still smeared across her face. I exhale a sigh of relief. She apparently didn't hear everything. She swipes her finger across her phone and starts pecking on the screen with her thumbs. She stops suddenly lowers her phone and looks me in the eye.

"Unless," she says, her eyes suddenly rounding.

"Unless what?" I ask, afraid to hear her guess. 

"Wyatt has always hated James. This goes back years, before you got here. And this is going to sound insane," she mutters, crossing into the room and shutting the door behind her. "But I think Wyatt had something to do with Professor Bradford leaving. They were close. A little too close if you ask me, but that's a long story. We can talk about it on the way." She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the front door.

"Where are we going?" I ask as she grabs her keys.

"Sonic."

"Why?"

"Remember when my manager, Curt, was convinced we had a dumpster diver? He installed security cameras on the back, facing the alley. All he caught were raccoons, but he left the cameras up."

"Do they record?"

"Yeah. Curt said they're on a loop and delete every 48 hours. If something went down in the alley today, there should still be video."