I didn’t even bother to soften it.
“I want that bench controlled. I want a motherfucker that don’t mind standing in the paint. I want somebody sitting there who understands what this case is supposed to end in, and I want the rest of this trial to move like that outcome is already set.”
Thomas’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Be specific.”
“I want a judge who isn’t going to entertain the defense,” I continued. “No more room, no more patience, no more sympathy. I want objections sustained when they need to be. I want witnesses handled without theatrics, and I want this shit wrapped up before they successfully twist it into something it isn’t.”
“You are asking me to interfere in an active trial,” he said.
“I am asking you to fix what is already being interfered with,” I replied. “Don’t pretend like you don’t see it. Don’t pretend like you don’t know how we operate.”
“That isn’t something I can just reach in and change in the middle of proceedings. That would look suspicious,” he said, his tone tightening.
“You can,” I replied. “You just don’t want to.”
He looked at me for a long second before speaking again. “You are asking me to replace a sitting judge mid-trial with someone who will push this in your favor. Do you understand what that looks like if anyone starts asking questions?”
“It looks like the right outcome being reached,” I said.
“It looks like corruption,” he corrected.
I didn’t blink. “Then call it that. I am past the point of giving a fuck what it looks like.”
Thomas shook his head slowly, and now I could see the line he had drawn for himself. It wasn’t because he was clean, but because he was trying to stay hidden.
“This is different,” he expressed.
“What I need is for Kay’Lo Mensah to never walk out of that courtroom again,” I said, my voice low but firm. “I need him convicted, I need him sentenced, and I need him sitting in a cell waiting on the island to end his life. That is what I came here for. If I can’t get that, I’m going to handle it the way I already intended.”
The moment shifted after that.
Thomas looked away for a moment, then back at me. “You think forcing it is the answer?”
“I think I’m done letting motherfuckers play in my fucking face.”
Thomas leaned forward slightly, his voice lower now. “If I do what you’re asking, and anyone even hints at it, this doesn’t just touch the case. It touches me. It touches you. It opens everything.”
“I’m already open! Everything I had is already gone. So do you honestly think I give a fuck about getting touched?”
The anger was bubbling up inside of me so bad, I could barely sit still. To add insult to injury, Thomas acted as if he didn’t care. He acted as if he didn’t know what it was like to lose a child. This motherfucker had clearly forgotten that I was there for him during his time of need, so to see him sitting here so smug about my grief was very offensive to me.
He stared at me, and I could see the calculation happening behind his eyes. I could see the risk, and the understanding of exactly how far this would go if he stepped into it again.
Finally, he shook his head and said, “No.”
I didn’t respond right away. I just sat there, letting that answer settle completely, because I needed to be sure I heard it the way he meant it.
“No?” I repeated.
“No,” he said again, firmer now. “I moved the case. I gave you what I could give you. I am not stepping into the middle of an active trial and forcing an outcome. That is where this stops.”
I leaned back slowly, studying him in a way I hadn’t before because now I understood exactly what he was choosing.
“You stood in my house when I buried my sons,” I said. “You sat beside me when I buried my daughter, and now you are telling me this is where you draw the line?”
“I am telling you this is where I keep both of us from being buried next,” he replied.
I let out a quiet breath through my nose and nodded once.
