“The prosecution would like to call Ms. Tatum Mosby.” I look over at Sherri, but she won’t look back at me, which means she fucking knew about this.
“Sherri… what did you do?”
“Let me do my job.” She tells me.
Reaching over, I snatch the sheet she handed to me earlier back over and flip through the pages… there she fucking is, right at the end of the goddamn page. She knew if they did not list her as one of our witnesses, I wouldn’t even fucking catch it.
“Goddamnit.” I mutter, shaking my head.
“There is nothing we can do if they decide to call her.”
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God?”
“I do.” Tatum says as she holds up her hand.
“Good morning.” I can hear the joy in his voice. He knows that no matter what she says, it’s somehow going to make me look bad.
“Morning.” She whispers back.
“Now, Tate, is it okay if I call you Tate?”
“Sure.” She shrugs. I want to tell him that no, he can’t fucking call her Tate.
“Thank you. Now, Tate, I just want to clear up why we’ve called you up to the stand.” He smiles. He knows that he’s already won. “You came to me, didn’t you? You told me you had information you wanted to give.”
“Yes.”
She fucking did what?
Turning, I look at Sherri now, but she won’t look back over at me, telling that she knows more of what’s going on than she is giving away.
“Can you tell the court how you know the defendant?”
“We met 7 years ago.” She whispers as I glare holes into her, but she refuses to look back at me.
“And what is the nature of your relationship?”
She hesitates, taking a deep breath, and I know it’s because she’s fucking about to sell me out. She’s about to put the final nail in my goddamn coffin.
“Tate?” the prosecutor walks over to her. “What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Anderson?” I can see her expression change to fear and I follow her eyes to where Darren is sitting in the front row of the audience.
“We would sleep together every couple of years.”
“And when you say sleep together, what exactly do you mean?”
“We would have sex.” The way he makes her spell it out pisses me off.
“And you say every few years?” It’s a question even if he doesn’t phrase it as one.
“It wasn’t like clockwork, really, just whenever we ran into one another.” She shrugs before she finally looks back at me. I’m so fucking furious with her, and as soon as her eyes meet mine, she is fully fucking aware of it.
“And what was Mr. Anderson doing when you first met him?”
“Well, I had gotten into a fight with—”
“That was not the question, Tate. In those first few moments which you met, what was that scene like?”
“I was on—”
