I sat in your courtroom exactly 2 years ago. Warren continued his tone filled with absolute sincerity. I watched you systematically dismantle a syndicate of corrupt executives who tried to bury my entire life of hard work under a mountain of fabricated evidence. You saw through their highly paid defense teams.
You saw through the fraudulent accounting. Thanks to your fair and absolute ruling, my corporation was saved from complete destruction. You protected the livelihood of thousands of my employees. I owe you a debt of gratitude I can never fully repay. He slowly lifted his head, his dark, perceptive eyes, finally taking in the full visual absurdity of the scene before him.
He looked at the cocktail sauce staining my tailored black dress. He looked at the cheap wet catering apron tied tightly around my waist. He looked at the raw red marks on my wrist where my father had brutally grabbed me just moments prior. The billionaire patriarch frowned genuine confusion furrowing his brow.
I do not understand, Warren said, his voice dropping to a low demanding register. You are one of the most powerful and respected judicial figures in the state of New York. Why are you standing in this house wearing a soiled catering apron? The silence that followed his question was absolute. It was a dead, suffocating vacuum.
All the oxygen was instantly sucked out of the room. The faint, cheerful sounds of the jazz quartet playing out on the terrace felt like they belonged to an entirely different universe. Brenda was the first to physically react. The arrogant high society matriarch who had just threatened to destroy my life took a stumbling unsteady step backward.
The heel of her expensive designer shoe caught on the edge of the Persian rug, and she nearly collapsed into the bookshelf. Her jaw dropped open, her eyes widened to the point of sheer madness. She stared at me, then at Warren, and then back at me. Her brain was completely shortcircuiting, desperately trying to process the impossible combination of the words, ‘Your honor,’ and the daughter she had treated like a miserable servant for 34 years.
‘Your honor!’ Brenda mouthed silently, her lips trembling. The terrifying reality was crashing down on her like a freight train. The lowincome government clerk she had locked in a kitchen, the spinster she had ruthlessly mocked in front of her wealthy guests, was a Supreme Court justice. Brenda had just committed physical assault and attempted extortion against a sitting magistrate.
