Off The Record Ch. 14

This is a very tame chapter (lame, I know), but I think it's necessary to set up the rest of the story.

We're all just here for the plot anyway, right? ;)

We'll get through it together...

All characters are over 18.

***

"Hi," Harper said, smiling at the receptionist. "I have a five o'clock appointment with DA Moore."

The receptionist clicked something on her computer monitor before she looked up at Harper and smiled. "She should be in her office. I can take you there."

"Perfect, thank you."

As Harper was led deeper into the lion's den, she took note of just how impressive the building was. She'd had to crane her neck just to see the top of the office from the street, and had taken the elevator all the way to the fifteenth floor. It was a bit more stark and austere than the Marshall & Brooks building, but was equally impressive.

"Miss Cassidy," Angela said with a tired smile when they reached her office. "Perfect timing. I've just finished licking my wounds. Please, take a seat."

She looked...different than how Harper was used to seeing her.

Sitting behind a massive cherrywood desk, her usually perfect hair was a little messy, and her clothes were in a state of slight disarray Up close, Harper could see the bags under her eyes, their dark purple coloring just barely covered up with a layer of concealer.

Quite frankly, she looked incredibly stressed and exhausted, and her appearance sharply juxtaposed the image of the composed and put together district attorney that Harper was accustomed to.

Harper offered her what she hoped was a sympathetic smile as she settled into one of the large leather chairs facing Angela's desk, even as she buried her own personal excitement, hoping it wasn't showing on her face.

Morgan had absolutely destroyed the prosecution's witnesses today, and judging from the glass of whiskey sitting on the district attorney's desk, Angela knew it.

"I hope you don't mind," Angela said when she noticed Harper staring at the alcohol. "As I'm sure you're aware, I had a very long, very frustrating day."

The courtroom had been more like a cage match today, with Angela and Morgan meeting each other strike for strike with their opposing direct and cross examinations of each witness.

The trial had moved into its forensic evidence phase, and everything covered over the last several days was all very technical, very scientific, and had mostly gone right over Harper's head.

There had also been the added emotional toll that the week had taken, given that the crime scene photos were necessary to paint the picture for the jury.

Harper had watched Jackie's family below her, seated behind the prosecution, a pang in her stomach as she tried to imagine what it must feel like to be forced to relive the trauma of losing her all over again, all these years later.

Even as a layperson who had a minimal understanding of blood and DNA and how it related to criminal cases, Harper could tell that the prosecution was grasping at straws.

And Morgan had made that clear to the jury, effortlessly poking holes in the testimony of every single witness thrown at her.

But the truly fatal blow had come when Angela had spent an exorbitant amount of time questioning the blood spatter analyst who had been responsible for providing the damning testimony that had ultimately played the most significant role in the conviction of Edward Sterling during the original trial.

It had been a lot of fluffed-up language about cast-off patterns and angles of impact and high-velocity versus low-velocity spatter.

It all made Harper's head spin, so she could only imagine how the jurors felt.

When it was time for cross-examination, Morgan had stood, very calmly, holding a single sheet of paper in her hands.

Approaching the witness stand, she'd said, "Mr. Daley. Would you please remind us of your degree and the university at which you earned it?"

The witness, an older man who acted like he had far better places to be than this murder trial, sat forward and spoke into the microphone. "I have a bachelor's degree in forensic science from the Henry C. Lee Institute of Forensic Science at the University of New Haven."

Morgan's smile had been sharp, and Harper had known that she had something up her sleeve.

"In Connecticut, right? That's a great school. A famous program." Morgan pursed her lips. "And would you say the education you received there qualified you to testify at Mr. Sterling's trial twenty-five years ago?"

Another snarky smile worked its way across Daley's lips. "Yes, I would. Blood spatter is a complex science, relying heavily on physics, which I excelled in when I studied at the university."

Harper narrowed her eyes, confused why Morgan wasn't shutting him up. Usually attorneys never wanted witnesses to speak more than was required of the question they'd asked.

It had been a simple yes or no response.

But for some reason, Morgan was allowing him talk, letting him flaunt his credentials to the jury.

"What year did you graduate?"

"I graduated in 1999," Mr. Daley replied without hesitation. He gave her a smirk. "Had you even been born then?"

Morgan gave him a tight smile, ignoring his dig about her age. She'd walked up to him confidently, holding the piece of paper out for him to take before turning and walking toward the jury, hands clasped neatly behind her back.

"What I've just handed you, Mr. Daley, is a letter from the president of the University of New Haven. Would you mind reading it aloud for me?"

Mr. Daley put on his glasses and scanned the letter, that arrogant smile immediately dropping from his face as his hand came up to pull at his necktie. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"It says, 'Miss Monroe, I apologize for the delay in getting back to you.'"

He hesitated, his face going white, and Morgan pushed, "Keep going, please."

Daley shot her a glare, but had continued reading. "'After...after thoroughly checking our records--'" He broke off again, running a hand through his beard. "'I...I can confirm with complete confidence that William Daley is not and never has been a student at the University of New Haven.'"

Harper's breath had left her in a rush, her hand jerking against her notebook, leaving a massive black streak across the shorthand bullet points she'd been jotting down.

Around her, the entire media gallery had leaned forward.

There had been audible gasps from both the spectators and the jury. Someone had even laughed aloud.

Once the silence following the shocking revelation had had its desired effect, Morgan had plucked the piece of paper from the man's hands and said, "You're not a forensic scientist. You're not a blood spatter analyst. You're a liar, Mr. Daley. No further questions."

And then she'd spun on her heel and sauntered back to her seat, like she hadn't just turned the prosecution's entire case on its head.

Harper's eyes followed those perfect legs the whole walk back. She was so fucking hot.

But Harper had scrambled to break herself out of her Morgan-induced stupor and get back to her note taking because...holy shit.

Angela had just spent the better part of an hour having Daley explain the layout of the crime scene and exactly how he believed Jackie had been attacked the night she died.

And in less than five minutes, Morgan had gotten him to perjure himself, swiftly and decisively nullifying every single thing he'd just said while being questioned by the prosecution.

And how many other cases had he worked on while claiming to be an expert in his field? Morgan, looking utterly gorgeous in the tan dress that she'd chosen to wear today, had just casually unleashed a complete shitstorm on the city of New York.

Even from her vantage point in the gallery, Harper could see the tension radiating off of Angela and her team, spines straight and shoulders taut. She was surprised the pen Angela had been clutching in a vice grip hadn't snapped in half.

Harper had a feeling someone at the district attorney's office was going to be fired for this oversight.

DA Moore had immediately asked for a recess to regroup, but she had clearly been rattled by the unexpected unveiling of Mr. Daley's dishonesty, and she had been off balance for the remainder of the day.

If the trial was a war, the defense had undeniably won today's battle.

Which was perfect for Harper. As a journalist, she really couldn't have asked for a better set of circumstances leading up to the interview she'd scheduled with Angela a few days ago.

She had figured that, in the interest of impartiality, it would benefit her and the general public if Harper interviewed someone from the prosecution's side of things. And who better than Angela Moore herself?

After she finished her spiel about being on the record and Angela had agreed to being recorded, Harper settled in for the interview.

"You know that I have to ask," Harper said as she gave her an apologetic glance. "Did you know?"

Angela scoffed, taking a sip of her whiskey. "Did I know that one of my most important forensic witnesses was a complete fraud? No, Miss Cassidy. I didn't."

Harper felt her eyebrows rise on her forehead at her candor. At least a small part of her had expected Angela to make excuses, to try and convince her that what had transpired in the courtroom today hadn't actually been as bad as it seemed.

The older woman let out a sigh, swaying slightly in her swivel chair.

"How did he slip through the cracks, then?" Harper asked, genuinely dumbfounded as to how Angela's team could have been so careless.

Angela swung her head toward her where it rested on the back of her chair. "I didn't look into him myself. I let a younger, less experienced person handle it. And I made the mistake of trusting that because he was a witness from the original trial, that must mean he was solid."

Harper nodded along with her as she took notes.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Angela lean across her desk and pause the recording on Harper's phone with a tap of one scarlet fingernail.

Harper's pen froze where it had been scribbling furiously.

She lifted her head slowly. "Is something wrong?"

"She's quite beautiful, isn't she?" Angela's quiet voice stopped Harper's heart cold in her chest.

"Who?"

Angela gave her a look like it was obvious. "Morgan," she said wistfully. She drained the rest of her whiskey, tipping her head back. "She's outrageously attractive."

Harper felt like she'd entered a minefield, and she had to tread carefully in order to avoid blowing everything up.

"I'm sorry, but I'm having trouble understanding how Miss Monroe's physical appearance is relevant to our conversation."

She tilted her head at Harper, running her eyes along the length of her. "You're beautiful too."

Harper cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Thank you," she said. She had a feeling that glass of whiskey wasn't Angela's first.

Angela leaned toward her, planting both of her elbows on her desk.

"You're a journalist, Miss Cassidy. Surely, you're well-versed in rhetoric." Those sharp eyes narrowed on her, a coy smile on her lips. "In fact, I know that you are, because I've been following your coverage of the trial closely. You have quite the knack for remaining purely objective in your reporting."

"Well, I wouldn't be a very good journalist if I let my own personal opinions bleed into my writing," Harper said with a self-deprecating smile.

"Of course," Angela said, standing up to refill her glass from a cabinet behind her desk. "I was just surprised--and relieved, I might add--to see that your relationship with Miss Monroe hasn't jaded you entirely in her favor."

It was like Harper heard the record scratch in her head.

At Harper's confused look, Angela said, "I imagine that you've struck up some sort of friendship with her, given all of the interviews and interactions you've had with each other." She raised an eyebrow. "Or am I incorrect in assuming that Miss Monroe can be quite the charmer outside of the courtroom?"

Harper let out a laugh that she hoped didn't sound strangled. A half-truth was probably the best play here. "She definitely thinks that she's a charmer," she said. "And we have become friends over the past few months, but we're very careful to keep anything related to the trial separate from our personal interactions."

Harper was going to throw up.

Did she know? Had Harper walked right into a trap? Was this why she'd agreed to the interview?

Angela just hummed thoughtfully, swirling the amber liquid around her tumbler.

"To get back to my earlier point, rhetoric doesn't always refer to the written or spoken word. It can be visual--physical. We are unknowingly manipulated every single day by everything we see, in some way or another."

She smiled at Harper again, trailing her finger around the rim of her glass.

"You know as well as I do that there's no such thing as an unbiased jury. Morgan thinks that I wanted more women on the jury for the sympathy, or empathy even, that they might be able to feel for Jackie. The neglected, mistreated housewife is a very relatable character, yes?"

Harper said nothing, entirely confused by the direction this conversation had taken.

"But what Morgan doesn't realize is that I wanted more women on the jury for another reason, and that reason is because I couldn't run the risk that a male majority would be far too enamored with her."

Maybe Angela just needed to vent to someone? About...about how pretty she thought Morgan was? To a journalist. Not her brightest idea.

"I'm embarrassed to admit that I severely underestimated her. She's a fantastic lawyer, and that face of hers is her golden ticket into any courtroom she could ever dream of working in."

Harper felt her temper flare at the implication that Morgan's looks were more valuable than her work ethic. But she tamped it down, unwilling to let Angela see how her words affected her.

As if sensing her ire, Angela clicked her tongue and waved a dismissive hand in front of her. "Oh, don't give me that look Miss Cassidy. I know what you're thinking--it's 2026 and women should be lifting each other up instead of tearing them down."

She sat forward in her chair.

"Please don't misunderstand me--I'd kill to have her on my team," Angela said. "She's brilliant. Every time she opens her mouth in that courtroom, she has everyone in the palm of her hand. It's an added challenge that I have to overcome on top of the actual trial."

The aggravation in Angela's voice was apparent.

Harper clicked her pen thoughtfully before she said, "I suppose there is a certain level of magnetism surrounding her."

Angela scoffed. "Indeed. And who knows exactly just how far her influence has already spread?" She met Harper's eye, amber irises the color of the whiskey she was drinking boring into Harper's, a small, curious smile on her face.

***

When Harper took a seat on the subway fifteen minutes later, she pulled out her phone and sent a text to Morgan.

Harper: You drove Angela to drink today. She was at least two whiskeys deep by the time I left.

Morgan: Music to my ears.

Harper shook her head, smiling when another text came through.

Morgan: You should come over. We can celebrate...

A photo popped up, and Harper clutched her phone to her chest, glancing around to make sure no one else had seen.

Another look revealed that the picture wasn't nearly as scandalous as she'd originally thought; it was a POV photo taken from Morgan's bathtub, her long legs extending out of the water, bubbles covering the surface of the bath. A glass of red wine and a candle set on the side of the tub completed the scene.

What Harper wouldn't give to be in that bathtub with her.

Harper: You can't send me photos like that when I'm using public transportation.

It had been just under a week since they'd agreed to continue sleeping together, and they'd had sex twice in the time since.

Every time together was better than the last.

Morgan: You should have let me drive you there.

Harper: Yeah, because I'm sure pulling up in your car wouldn't have raised any eyebrows at all.

Harper thought back to the conversation with Angela. It had been...strange. Not strange enough for Harper to enter a full-blown panic about what Angela may or may not know about her relationship with Morgan.

But it was definitely weird.

The way she'd paused the recording and spoken in riddles. They needed to be more careful.

She looked back down at their open text thread. While Harper would love nothing more than to take Morgan up on her offer to spend the evening with her, she had dinner plans with Cam.

Harper: And I'd love to come over, but unfortunately, I'm meeting my sister for dinner.

Morgan: Stop by for dessert, then?

She sent another photo, this one far more explicit, and Harper had to bite her lip to muffle her groan.

"Fucking hell," she muttered.

Harper: You're cruel.

Morgan: Enjoy dinner with Cam. There's an open invitation if you aren't too tired afterward ;)

Determined to not be horny by the time she reached her sister, Harper put her phone away and tried not to think about Morgan's wet, naked body.

By the time she was sitting across from Cam, sipping her drink, she had cooled off considerably.

Harper was listening to Cam rant about some client who wouldn't stop hitting on her for their entire session when she cut herself off. "Who is blowing up your phone right now? Is there a national emergency I'm unaware of?"

Harper glanced at her phone where it was lying facedown on the corner of the table. "It's probably just Morgan," she said, not thinking.

She realized her mistake when she looked up to find dark eyes narrowed on her, searching her face intently. "Why is she texting you this late? Court ended like three hours ago."

Harper thought on her feet, hoping Cam would buy her excuse without questioning it. "We have an interview scheduled in a few days. She's probably just confirming the time so she can work her schedule around it."

"Uh huh," Cam said, that suspicious look in her eyes making Harper fidget. "And how's the whole attraction situation going between you two?"

Harper froze, but only for a millisecond before recovering. She knew that if she wasn't careful, Cam would be able to read her like a book.

"It's going well." She turned her attention to her menu, pretending to browse.

Not technically a lie. It was going extremely well. Harper's sex life had never been better.

She hadn't told Cam anything about Morgan and their blossoming sexual relationship, for obvious reasons.

She could trust her to keep her secrets, of course, but she knew Cam wouldn't approve. Plus, she would never want to put her sister in any position where she didn't have plausible deniability on her side.

"What do you mean it's going well?"

Harper blinked at her. "What do you mean, what do I mean?"

Cam cocked her head to the side, dark hair falling over her shoulder. "I mean that you haven't complained about not being able to handle how pretty she is since," she glanced at an imaginary watch on her wrist, "I don't know, about three or four weeks ago?"

Yep, that would line up perfectly with the holiday party at Marshall & Brooks. Harper didn't give her sister enough credit for her attention to detail.

"And you've been acting so strange," she continued.

"No, I haven't," Harper said, a little too quickly.

Cam sat back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yes, you have. You've been distracted during your workouts with me, and trying to get ahold of you at night is like pulling teeth. You've been a ghost."

Harper just looked back at her, the urge to come clean building within her, like a dam about to burst. The words were crawling up her throat, making their way to the tip of her tongue.

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