Page 18 of The Advocate’s Ultimatum

Department Five was already crowded when Sabre slipped into the courtroom.

She took her seat at counsel table just as Judge Hammouri lectured a probation officer about a missing report.

“Next time,” the judge said sharply, “you might consider bringing the paperwork the court actually ordered.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Imagine that.”

A few quiet chuckles moved through the courtroom. Sabre tried not to smile. Some things about juvenile court never changed.

Sabre’s first case of the morning took less than three minutes, a continuance while a placement report was completed. The second involved a boy in foster care who had managed to miss fourteen days of school in the last month. Sabre assured the court she would talk to her client and figure out what was going on.

By the time Sabre stepped back into the hall, she was reminded of why she had decided not to take anything new.

“Counselor.”

Sabre turned.

Bob Clark was leaning against the wall, holding a thick file in one hand. He looked exactly the way he always did,tall, with prematurely gray hair that seemed to ignore whatever comb he had used that morning. Thick glasses sat low on his nose, and his suit jacket hung open over a slightly rumpled dress shirt. As usual, he was not wearing a tie, which he claimed interfered with oxygen flow to the brain. No one had ever been able to prove otherwise.

“So,” he said, “The rumor around the courthouse is that you’re retiring.”

Sabre rolled her eyes. “I’m not retiring.”

Bob nodded thoughtfully. “Ah. Strategic withdrawal.”

“I’m not withdrawing either.”

“Then I assume you’re here for the company.”

Sabre smiled, despite herself. “I’m not taking any new cases right now, but I still have a full caseload.”

“Of course you do. Four-hundred cases, give or take, is a lot to just walk away from.” He pushed off the wall. “You look like someone trying to decide whether she belongs here today.”

Sabre tilted her head. “Is it that obvious?”

Bob gestured down the hall. “Let’s go where we can talk more privately.”

They moved toward a bench at the end, then sat.

“So, what’s the crisis?”

Sabre crossed her arms. “There’s a case.”

Bob nodded. “There’s always a case.”

“This one’s different.”

“I’m listening.”

Sabre told him about Bay, the murder charge, and the fact that the girl had specifically asked for her.

Bob adjusted his glasses. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “A teenage girl tracks down a man and stabs him.”

“Yes.”

“Then asks for you by name to represent her.”