The air smelled of industrial floor wax, stale cologne, and the palpable anxiety of a hundred intersecting lives. Dempsey hated this part of the job. He hated the waiting, the procedural red tape, and the judges who thought they knew better than the men on the streets. He particularly despised the newly appointed judges, the ones who scrutinized police reports and asked uncomfortable questions about probable cause. There was one in particular.
He couldn't remember her name, only that she was a recent transfer from the appellate division. A woman who had already dismissed three cases from the fourth precinct due to insufficient evidence. Dempsey hadn't been in her courtroom yet, but he had already decided he didn't respect her. "Wait here, Miller." Dempsey barked, pausing near the security checkpoint.
"I'm going to grab a decent coffee from the second floor cafeteria. If Richards's public defender shows up, tell him we aren't cutting any deals. She pleads guilty to the resisting charge, or I'll make sure the prosecutor throws the book at her." Miller nodded nervously, clutching his clipboard. Dempsey turned and pushed his way through the throngs of people, not caring who he bumped into.
His mind was hyper-focused on maintaining his dominance, utterly blind to the fact that his arrogance was leading him straight toward a catastrophic collision. He checked his watch. 8:15 a.m. The hearing was at 9:00 a.m. He had plenty of time to assert his authority. He just needed a target. Miles away, the morning had unspooled in a completely different, yet equally frustrating manner for the honorable Nora Montgomery.
At 42, Nora was a force of nature in the legal world. Brilliant, uncompromising, and deeply devoted to the concept of blind justice. She had ascended the judicial ranks with a speed that left her older, more complacent colleagues dizzy. She was the youngest presiding judge in the 12th District and one of the few black women to hold such a senior position in the state. She possessed a formidable intellect and a courtroom demeanor that was famously icy toward anyone, prosecutor, defense attorney, or police officer who dared to make a mockery of the law.
But this morning, the universe seemed completely uninterested in her prestigious title. It had started with a blown tire on her Audi halfway down Interstate 84. Waiting for the tow truck had cost her 45 minutes. By the time she managed to secure a ride-share, the morning traffic had gridlocked into a miserable crawl. Her driver, a talkative man oblivious to her rising stress levels, had been forced to drop her off two blocks away from the courthouse due to a ruptured water main blocking the secure VIP and judicial parking entrance.
Nora was forced to walk the remaining distance through the biting cold. She was not dressed in her usual immaculate tailored courtroom attire because she had planned to work late in her chambers reviewing a massive stack of civil briefs, she had opted for comfort on her commute. A pair of dark, unassuming slacks, comfortable walking shoes, and a thick, oversized tan wool coat. Her hair, usually styled in a sharp, elegant bob, was currently tucked under a beige scarf to protect it from the damp wind. Without her heavy black judicial robes and the elevated bench, she looked like any other tired citizen navigating the morning rush.
Pushing through the heavy brass doors of the East Wing public entrance, Nora shook the chill from her shoulders. The lines for the metal detectors were agonizingly long because she was entering through the civilian side, rather than the secure judges tunnel. She had to wait like everyone else. She didn't pull rank. She never did.
She quietly placed her leather tote bag on the X-ray conveyor belt, walked through the scanner, and retrieved her belongings with a polite nod to the overwhelmed security guard who didn't recognize her without her usual security detail. Nora checked her phone. It was 8:20 a.m. She had 40 minutes before she had to take the bench in courtroom 302 for a crowded morning docket. She needed to get to the third floor, unlock her chambers, change into her robes, and review the final notes on her first case. A preliminary hearing for a woman named Tonya Richards.