Off The Record Ch. 05

The slow burn saga continues :)

All characters are over 18

***

Harper walked through the metal detector, moving off to the side to wait patiently while the security guard finished checking her bag.

It took every ounce of self-control she possessed to stop herself from bouncing up and down on her heels like a child, so giddy with excitement that she was already regretting the three cups of coffee she'd had this morning.

"You're all set, miss."

"Thank you," she said with a quick smile to the security guard. "Would you be able to point me in the direction of Judge Richter's courtroom?"

The guard's thick eyebrows rose on his forehead, a grin stretching across his friendly face. "You've got tickets for the main event today, huh?" He threw her a sly wink. "Take the elevator to the third floor, and then hang a left. The press entrance for the upper gallery is a few doors down on your right."

Harper gave him a grateful smile before making her way toward the elevator. She nervously adjusted the glasses that she had reluctantly put on this morning. Usually, she opted for contacts, but her eyes had been so dry this morning after a night of restless sleep that she had chosen comfort over her pride and donned her favorite pair, hoping they didn't make her look ridiculous.

Her hand came up to the press lanyard where it hung around her neck. Morgan had given it to her earlier in the week, and she wanted to make sure that her credentials were clearly in view for anyone who might question whether she had a right to be here.

It had been awkward enough enduring the envious glares of the various news stations that were camped outside of the courthouse, the dozens of reporters and cameramen staring daggers at her as she had gently pushed her way through the crowd, muttering soft apologies as she'd carved out a path to the front doors.

Harper felt a brief twinge of sympathy for those who were here for issues unrelated to the Sterling case. Bad luck to have to come here on a day when it was such a madhouse.

For about the millionth time since moving to the city, Harper was grateful she didn't drive here, because the streets surrounding the courthouse had been a gridlocked nightmare, every commuter hoping to catch a glimpse of some sort of action regarding Edward Sterling.

All futile attempts of course.

Even though the actual trial wasn't starting today, the information concerning the proceedings had been held under lock-and-key.

Jury selection coverage was tricky. Technically speaking, all voir dire proceedings in a court of law were generally considered to be public knowledge under the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution, meaning that the media had a constitutional right to sit in on the jury questioning process.

However, in high-profile cases--or cases in which the safety of jury members may potentially be at risk due to high controversy--the judge reserves the right to restrict access to certain portions of the trial proceedings. And the Sterling case was just about as high-profile as it could possibly get.

There were only a select few reporters from the major news outlets allowed in the courtroom today, and they had each been screened personally by the judge himself before gaining approval.

And even then, there were conditions to Harper being granted access to the events of the day.

While Harper was allowed to sit in the public gallery and observe, she wasn't allowed to report any specific details that might identify the jurors, and the presence of audio and visual recording devices was strictly controlled.

That was why, today, to be safe and err on the side of caution, Harper had opted to stick with only written notes. She had left her laptop at home, and her phone was secured firmly in her pocket, where there was no risk of her recording anything that could get her in trouble. In short, she was going to do everything in her power to ensure that she didn't royally screw this up.

In truth, she had come here today mainly out of sheer human curiosity. It wasn't necessarily crucial for her to report on the jury selection process, other than maybe to provide a very brief update on the progression of the trial overall. However, she was fortunate to have the opportunity to witness parts of this trial in a way that the rest of the country wouldn't, and she would be a fool to squander the opportunity that she had been handed to be a part of history.

There was also that little voice in the back of her head refusing to let her deny the fact that she was ridiculously curious to see what Morgan was like when she was working, immersed in her element in a courtroom.

Throughout their personal interactions, Harper had definitely seen glimpses of the traits and characteristics that would undoubtedly make her a great lawyer, but Harper wanted to see her in action.

You know, for purely professional reasons.

Definitely not because Harper had a sneaking suspicion that watching Morgan flip her attorney switch on and dress people down on the witness stand would be a major turn on.

Lost in her own jumbled thoughts, she followed the crowd and before she knew it, she'd made it to the courtroom. Presenting her lanyard to yet another guard, she was granted access to a staircase that led to an upper gallery.

When she reached the top, Harper sucked in a breath, awe washing over her when she took in the layout before her.

It was far from Harper's first time in a courtroom, but this one was by far the most impressive she'd ever been in.

Just the existence of the balcony gallery alone set it apart from others that she'd seen--usually there were only benches or pews situated behind the counsel desks for viewing. This room had that section below as well, and Harper could see a few spectators scattered throughout the seating area.

The ceiling was high--vaulted, really--and the voices of the few people who were already inside reverberated off the thick wood-paneled walls, echoing back from every direction.

The carpeting was a rich, dark blue lattice with a pattern of golden accents, matched perfectly with all of the furniture in the room.

Twelve currently empty chairs adorned with elegantly designed upholstery sat in the elevated jury box to the right. Harper eyed the door just beyond the bench that she was sure the prospective jurors would file through any minute now.

Lawyers from both the prosecution and the defense had already begun to set up at their respective tables, a flurry of paperwork, binders, and folders being passed among them.

She craned her neck, searching for Morgan, but she didn't seem to have arrived just yet.

Harper's gaze locked onto an older man seated at the far end of the defense table, hunched over and reserved compared to the others moving around him.

With a jolt, she realized that she was looking at the one and only Edward Sterling.

It was surreal, being in the same room as the man whose life had captivated America all those years ago, every detail of his existence plastered across every television screen and news outlet. Harper would have been a toddler when he'd been on trial, but she had seen just about every single documentary on the case.

She pursed her lips as she studied him, dozens of little observations flooding her brain. But the one that really took up residence in her mind was just how small he looked, exhaustion clear in the set of his shoulders.

She supposed spending twenty-five years in prison did that to a person.

And then Morgan walked into the courtroom, leather briefcase in hand, and every coherent thought Harper had fled her as she made a conscious effort to keep her tongue in her mouth.

Because god fucking damn.

She was wearing fitted light gray dress pants that she'd paired with a classy, plain white button-down blouse, the top button undone to show off those beautifully alluring clavicles.

She had completed the outfit with a navy blue blazer that Harper was sure made her eyes pop, stylish and chic but not too flashy.

Her hair had been styled into an elegantly simple bun, having left a few strands of dark hair loose to frame her face perfectly.

How the fuck did anyone manage to focus when they were in the same courtroom as Morgan? Harper wasn't even near her and she'd suddenly forgotten the whole reason she'd come here today.

Maybe her looks and her charm were added bonuses on top of all of her other skills as an attorney. She couldn't speak for anyone else, but Harper was positive that those blue eyes could make her confess to anything.

Morgan set her briefcase down on the table, placing a hand on Edward's upper back as she leaned down to say something in his ear.

He nodded and smiled up at her before turning his attention back to the paperwork in front of him.

She greeted Joel next, who seemed to be fully energized this morning as he sorted through a mountain of files.

And then Harper watched as Morgan strutted confidently to the prosecution's table, shaking hands and introducing herself to each person there. When she reached a middle-aged woman with perfectly-styled blonde hair that just barely reached her shoulders, she spent a bit longer talking to her; from what Harper could tell from her vantage point, the conversation seemed amicable enough, Morgan all polite smiles and professional disposition.

She wasn't certain, but she thought she recognized the woman as Angela Moore, Manhattan's district attorney. Her presence alone seemed to demand respect, her team of lawyers scurrying around her and Morgan all while giving her sidelong glances, like they were afraid they'd accidentally get too close and set off a landmine.

The media had exploded when it had come out that she would be taking the case on personally.

While they hadn't discussed it in depth when they'd seen each other, Harper could tell that Morgan was nervous about it.

And who wouldn't be? The woman was a shark who could smell blood in the water from a mile away.

Just then, Morgan turned and her gaze swept across the upper gallery, her eyes stopping when they caught on Harper.

Even from this distance, Harper could see that deep, piercing blue.

Unable to resist, Harper threw her a wink and a teasing smirk, earning herself a flustered smile in return.

She swore she saw Morgan roll her eyes slightly before she turned her attention back to Joel and the rest of her team where they were setting up on their side of the room.

"She's so young, isn't she?"

Harper hadn't been paying much attention to the other members of the press who had been filling in the gallery seats around her, but the male voice from her left was far too close for her to ignore.

She turned in her chair to find a young man in the seat two down from her, staring directly at her.

He was handsome, with slicked back, blonde hair and deep-set brown eyes.

"Beautiful too," he added when he saw that he had successfully captured Harper's attention.

Harper offered him a cautious smile. "Who?" She asked, even though she knew exactly to whom he was referring.

He gestured down to the floor. "That defense attorney. Monroe."

Harper flicked her eyes down to where Morgan had just sat down next to Mr. Sterling before bringing her attention back to the man beside her. She gave him a tight smile and said, "She's very pretty."

"Do you know her well?"

Harper narrowed her eyes at the man, studying him, but his face was a perfectly constructed mask of indifference.

"Not really, no."

Harper hoped that would be the end of it as they lapsed into an awkward silence that she greatly preferred over the stilted small talk.

"Do you think he did it?"

Harper lifted her lanyard slightly and gave him a coy smile. "Unbiased third party, remember?"

He chuckled softly. "How professional of you," he said. "I think he did it." He shrugged as he studied Harper out of the corner of his eye. "Alan Ross." He reached across the empty chair between them to shake her hand.

"Harper Cassidy."

"It's sort of insane isn't it?" Alan's reedy voice cut into her peace once again. This time he had managed to make it approximately forty-five seconds without speaking.

Harper blinked, irritated that this guy couldn't just sit there quietly while they waited for court to begin. It was kind of hard to report on what you were seeing and hearing if you were too busy chatting.

"What do you mean?" Harper asked, her patience wearing thin.

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "All I'm saying is that it's weird to me that a girl who can't be older than thirty is leading the defense in this case. She's taking on the most notorious district attorney this city has ever known, and no one is asking how exactly that happened?"

Harper blinked at him.

Alan shrugged. "It just makes you wonder what's going on over at Marshall & Brooks."

Everything in Harper's body screeched to a halt.

He couldn't possibly be suggesting what it sounded like he was suggesting.

She dropped her eyes to his chest, taking a closer look at the credentials hanging around his neck. Only, there weren't any. Where Harper's lanyard specifically stated that she was a representative for the New York Times, Alan's had no information pertaining to any particular news outlet.

Interesting.

And then it occurred to Harper that he didn't have anything with him. No bag, no notebook, no electronics. Not even a pen as far as she could tell.

"Who did you say you write for again?" Harper asked, keeping her voice level and nonchalant.

"I didn't," he said, with a smirk that told Harper that he knew what she was trying to do, that she was clued in to whatever game he thought he was playing. "But I'm a freelancer."

Bullshit.

Every alarm bell in Harper's mind began blaring, drowning out any reasonable explanation that could possibly make this man's presence in the gallery make any sort of sense.

There was no way in hell a freelance journalist who was unattached to a legit publication had been allowed in the courtroom today.

"Oh yeah?" Harper asked. "You must have a pretty impressive following, then. Do you have social media?"

His smirk stretched into a grin as he sat back, looking at Harper with newfound intrigue.

She simply stared back at him, hard.

"No wonder they chose you as their journalist," he said in a low voice, leaning toward her. In one smooth motion, he pulled a business card out of his back pocket and pressed it into Harper's palm. "You don't miss much, do you?" He pointed to the card in her hand. "Give me a call if you ever want to discuss the...case."

And then he got up and left, like a complete weirdo.

What the fuck was that about?

Her mind skipped back to the conversation she'd had with Morgan the first time she had gone to her apartment.

About how the prosecution's one and only goal was to win, and that they'd do anything to make it happen.

Harper bit her lower lip as she thought for a moment. Based on her own independent research on the circumstances surrounding the retrial, it seemed like

Morgan and her team had a strong case against the state.

And that would mean the only way for the prosecution to make any headway against Sterling in front of a jury would be to crucify his character as well as the character of anyone on his team.

And Morgan Monroe, looking perfect in all of her flawless glory, would be public enemy number one.

Harper had to warn her.

She was pulled from her frantic thoughts by the sharp tapping of Judge Richter's gavel below.

The DA stood from her spot at the table and began speaking to the group of potential jurors who had just walked in. "Can I please get a show of hands of how many of us here today have ever made it to this stage of jury selection before?"

A smattering of hands went up from the jury box. "Good," Angela said. "So I want to start with a brief explanation of why what we're doing here today is so important, and why we need to be dedicated to putting together the most unbiased jury possible for the upcoming trial..."

Angela's spiel lasted approximately ten minutes, and Harper could already see a few people fading in the jury box. By the time Angela called the first woman to the stand, one man in the back row had already fallen asleep. How he had managed to make it through presumptive screening and into the actual courtroom was beyond Harper.

And so she settled into the cushioned seat of the upper gallery, the morning continuing on, one potential juror at a time, both Morgan and Angela questioning the pool of candidates and sorting through who they might want on their jury.

Around noon, the judge called for a thirty minute lunch period, and Harper planned to use the opportunity to steal Morgan away for a quick meeting.

Harper took note of which door she and the rest of the defense team exited through before making her way downstairs.

In the main hallway, she scouted the double doors to the courtroom from an alcove next to a women's restroom until she spotted that blue blazer make its way through the crowd. She stared at her, silently willing Morgan to look her way.

Within seconds, her brunette head turned in her direction, her eyes locking onto Harper, a questioning, amused gleam in her eye.

Harper held her gaze for a few moments before inclining her head toward the bathroom door as inconspicuously as possible.

Once inside, Harper gave a cursory glance to each of the stalls while she waited, ensuring that no one else was in the bathroom.

She paced in front of the sinks until the door opened and Morgan walked in.

"If you wanted to talk to me," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye, "you could have just approached me. You didn't have to resort to sultry looks across the hallway to lure me into a clandestine rendezvous in the--"

Harper stepped forward and pressed her hand against Morgan's mouth, shushing her. The absolute last thing they needed was for someone to walk by and hear Morgan's incessant flirting.

Morgan's nostrils flared, her back thumping against the bathroom door as she staggered back in shock. One perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised above a smoky, indigo eye, but she made no attempt to break free from Harper's hold on her.

"I know it's very difficult for you, but I need you to not flirt with me for five minutes," Harper said quietly. "I need to talk to you."

Morgan's eyes narrowed at her, and Harper willed herself not to get distracted by the fact that she could see gorgeous flecks of gold in them this close. She felt soft lips curve against her hand.

Harper took a deep breath and stepped back, lowering her hand. Her palm tingled where Morgan's lips had been, especially when she watched her lick her lips reflexively, and Harper felt the sudden distance between them like a bucket of ice water thrown over her head.

She reached down and grabbed Morgan's hand, pulling her further into the bathroom. "Get away from the door."

"Harper, what the fuck is going on?" She asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Are you alright?"

Her eyes scanned Harper's body, like she was checking her for injuries.

"I'm fine," she said, her gaze darting to the door. They didn't have time for this. Someone might walk in and interrupt them.

"She has a private investigator looking into you," Harper blurted out.

Morgan just blinked at her. "Who?" She asked.

"Moore," Harper clarified.

"How do you know?"

"Uh, well, I think the nondescript man with the obviously fake credentials up in the gallery interrogating me about you was a pretty big clue."

Morgan's eyes widened.

"It had to be the prosecution. Probably Angela herself, if I had to guess. I mean, who else could possibly have the power to get someone access like that?"

"And you think she also bugged the courthouse bathroom?" Morgan's tone held a touch of amusement as a slow smile stretched across her face. "Are you sure you're not a secret agent?"

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