Just one month after my meeting with Hakeem at the bookstore, the day we were planning for is finally here. Or, I guess the first day is.

I am currently standing in my bedroom, staring at myself in the full-length mirror. I wanted to mark this occasion with a special outfit. So, I am currently wearing a crisp deep navy blue pantsuit with a light blue button up. My goal is to look professional, put together, and most importantly: innocent.

Today, I will be attending my very first trial proceeding as an intern at Johnson & Johnson LLP. I wish I could say I was excited, but, Hakeem's father being the defendant has changed everything about how I approached being assigned to this case. Instead of solely working at the Johnson's law firm and doing everything I can to help them win, I have been secretly meeting Hakeem to prevent a win by the defense.

I try to shake the thoughts out of my mind as the nerves begin to truly set in. Being just an intern means that I am at the absolute bottom of the hierarchy at the firm. So, thinking about the breaches of conduct I have committed ever since being assigned to this case are terrifying. I can't even imagine what the consequences would be if anyone found out about what I was doing. The only person who knows about this is Hakeem himself. I didn't even tell Ruby. And I don't plan to.

Either way, it's for a greater good. The crimes that Rodney Rashford has committed are heinous and inexcusable. He deserves everything Hakeem has coming for him. I am just helping plant a few seeds.

I refocus my vision on my reflection, realizing that I have been lost in my thoughts for too long. With one last long glance, I ensure that there is absolutely nothing out of place on me.

I grab my purse and black pumps before leaving my room.

Luckily, my parents are both at work this morning, so I don't have to pretend to be heading to a trial for a random case that I skimmed the files for at work one evening.

With all the press coverage that this case has gotten, and the fact that my parents met Hakeem, I knew I could not tell them the truth about what case I was working on. I would just have to hope they don't find out.

I already had a quick breakfast before doing my makeup and getting dressed, so I only grab my coat before heading out to my car.

A short drive later, I am walking to the courthouse where the trial will begin shortly.

When I get outside of the correct courtroom, I mentally prepare myself for the role I am about to play. There was so much at stake here, and I could not give anyone even the slightest indication that I was colluding with the prosecution's main witness: Hakeem Rashford.

With no further hesitation, I push the huge wood doors open and enter the courtroom. A few heads turn to see who has entered, but I am grateful that many don't acknowledge my entrance.

I head straight towards the left side of the benches, without sparing a glance at the right. Seeing Hakeem would only further stir up my already shaken nerves. Instead, I walk right over to the first bench behind the rail where Mr. Johnson is seated.

The trial hasn't started yet, so he turns out around to say hello as I slide into the empty bench. Sitting right in front gives me the best view of the proceedings, unfortunately, it also means that I am sitting too close to Rodney Rashford for my liking.

Even though Mr. Johnson has turned back towards the front of the courtroom, I feel eyes piercing into the left side of my face. I immediately know the stare is coming from the defendant himself, but I refuse to make eye contact with him. His presence still has a chilling effect on me, but I have learned to suppress my fear.

He continues to stare at me, even as Mr. Johnson begins giving him last minute pointers for trial.

My purse sits heavily on my lap, even though it only holds a few essentials, my phone, and a small notepad. I try to distract myself from the man that continues to stare at me by taking out my phone. The screen lights up before me, void of notifications.

A part of me misses seeing Hakeem's name as a notification, but I know that we can't risk creating any physical evidence of our interactions this past month.

I set my phone to silent mode and slip it back into my bag.

Just a moment later, I am joined on the bench by Zaria and her mother, Mrs. Johnson. I politely greet them both, but scoot further to the right when Zaria sits to my left. She doesn't seem to notice because she is preoccupied with making her presence known to her father.

"I have everything you need right here." Zaria smiles, patting the thick file portfolio in her arms. "I double and triple checked it all for you. All by myself." She adds, throwing a jab at me.

I refrain from smiling, this is exactly what I predicted she would do.

I watch as she hands the portfolio over to her father, unknowingly planting the first seed for me.

I maintain a neutral expression as I impatiently wait for the trial to just start already. The quicker this gets going, the quicker it can end.

Luckily, about five minutes later, we are all prompted to rise for the judge to enter.

The judge takes her seat and motions for us to sit, as well.

The pre-trial proceedings begin and I watch Mr. Johnson in action for the first time. Both him and the prosecutor go through the necessary motions, commanding the entire room effortlessly.

I try to avoid looking at the prosecution's side of the room, where I know Hakeem is sitting. I can't even imagine how difficult this must for him. If only the circumstances weren't like this, I could have been sitting on his side, providing him with the clear support he otherwise doesn't have.

I force those thoughts to the furthest part of my mind and refocus on the trial beginning in front of me.

The judge asks if the prosecution is ready to begin their opening statements.

"Yes, your honor." He says, his voice filling the entire room.

"You may proceed." Her honor states, officially giving the floor to him.

He steps away from his counsel table where he has laid out several sheets of paper. He begins strongly, telling the court that this is a case of a cold-hearted monster masquerading as a man. He walks around the well of the courtroom as he speaks, making a point to make eye contact with everyone in the room. I scan the jury to find them completely captivated by the story that the prosecutor is painting for us. I also notice a few faces turn up in disgust as he gives them a preview of the evidence they will see later in the trial.

By the time he is finished thirty minutes later, my own stomach is twisted in disgust.

"Is the defense ready to present their opening statements?" The judge asks.

"Yes, your honor." Mr. Johnson confirms, standing with his own packet of papers in hand.

He begins strongly, as well. Although he is defending a terrible man, he does it very well. He flips through each page as he proceeds through his points. It is about fifteen minutes into his statement when it happens.

He is in the middle of explaining why the jury should see Mr. Rashford as a victim himself when he flips the page. I watch as his eyes glance down to the page in search of the list of charges against Mr. Rashford.

He pauses, a bit too long for the flow he had going. He quickly flips through the subsequent pages, but does not seem to find what he is looking for.

He returns to the page he was originally on while scanning the courtroom.

I mentally laugh when his eyes settle on Zaria. He does a good job of keeping his demeanor neutral, but I can tell that he is livid behind the mask of calm.

The jury picks up on his strange pause and begins to snicker quietly. They quickly go silent when the judge turns to look at them. But even she raises an eyebrow at Mr. Johnson.

He quickly recomposes himself, like any professional of his caliber would. He goes on to recall the charges from memory.

All, but one.