Page 23 of Vermilion Desire

The defense attorney clearly has never dealt with someone with a high IQ and tendencies of a sinister manipulator.

“Your honor?” her sweet voice draws the older man’s attention and everyone else’s. “I need a restraining order.”

“What?” the judge, the prosecutor, and the defense simultaneously drop that word. They are just as confused as the rest of the room.

My Scarletta is scary. She is able to make the courtroom spin with people with incredible aptitude and give a performance as a blow to Braxton’s poise.

“Mr. Braxton has threatened me, and I would like a restraining order.”

The accused man stands up, slapping his hand on the table while Braxton’s other lawyers try to calm him down because they don’t want him to destroy their hard work of painting him as a beloved son and treasured musician.

“Young lady, do you have proof of this?” the judge asks.

“She doesn’t!” Braxton shouts, and I wonder where he has that confidence to say. Unless he had personally gotten rid of it, there is no way he could know she doesn’t have evidence against him because Scarletta doesn’t do things without a backup plan of the backup plan.

She must have three escapes for something as big as a murder trial.

“How’d you know?” She tilts her head, big amber eyes watering in absolute horror. “Is it because I gave the letter which you asked me to sign so I can work for you to Uncle Cal and Mr. Wolf? They said it was gone.”

Braxton’s chest shudders. “That’s right. I heard from a police friend that there had been a break-in at the station.”

His main lawyer tells him to keep his mouth shut under his breath, and Braxton continues to heave. A flash of relief and victory clouds his eyes as he drops back down to his chair with some difficulty and an odd angle on his body.

I don’t think too much of that.

“I have proof, your honor,” she repeats with her watery doe eyes, and the judge has no idea what he’s dealing with.

“My chamber this instant!” He jumps up from his seat and points at me and Cal. “You gentlemen too!”

Scarletta skips out of the stand and hums a small tune, casting Braxton a sardonic smile while she waits for me. I keep an eye on Braxton, warning him to not try anything while Cal takes her other side.

The three of us, the prosecutor, Braxton, and his main lawyer makes it into the chamber where the judge takes off his robe to sit in his hair. He glares at all of us, commanding one of us to explain the situation.

Braxton and his lawyer are useless in this while the rest of us don’t know a damn thing, but Scarletta takes out her phone to play a recording.

The judge listens to it, and his eyes darken with a sneering lip. The conversation started off with nothing serious until it got to the part where it truly went to hell.

“It’d be a shame to catch any misfortunes during your stay. I have people willing to go to prison for me and more money to spend destroying you than you can imagine. You wouldn’t want your housemate to be caught up in a mess, do you?”

Fucking hell. Braxton did threaten my little Scarletta, and she didn’t tell me until now. If this didn’t happen and she hadn’t been called to the stand, she would have kept this from me.

When the judge continues to listen to the recording with eyes cast down on the phone, I turn to Scarletta, who bats her eyes innocently at Braxton. He is ready to have steam coming out of his scalp at how furious he is.

When the recording ends, Scarletta switches her expression to an upset young girl who had been threatened by Braxton when the judge glances at her.

Braxton doesn’t take it well even when his lawyer just wants to have him shut up so he can talk his way out of this.

“You can’t record that! It’s illegal! My lawyer will have it tossed out!”

The judge sighs, folding his arms on his desk when he addresses the furious man. “This is a "one-party consent" state. This is evidence, and it will not be voided.”

“Then I request for this evidence to be suppressed and have the jury discard what had happened!” his lawyer shouts, trying to salvage his losing fate.

“Under what pretense?” the prosecutor asks, stepping forward towards the judge’s desk. “You’re the one who called Miss. Scarletta to the stand. You opened that door.”

The judge nods in agreement. “Counselor, you sleep on that can of worms. This will be admitted into evidence as to character witness, and the witness you were trying to discredit does not stand.”

Then he focuses on Scarletta, and she keeps up with her act, a façade too perfect and too heartbreaking for the judge to keep his stern gaze. Even though for a little while, his eyes had a flash of sympathy in it.

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