Page 1 of Before I Say I Don't
Chapter One
KAMIRA SINCLAIR
The courtroom was thick with anticipation, and the tension was palpable among the seated jurors and the spectators crowded in the gallery as I rose from my seat at the plaintiff’s table.
My palms were warm, but not sweaty. That was my space—the wood-paneled walls, the faint smell of polished oak, the low murmur of the spectators in the gallery. I knew that arena better than I knew my own living room.
The jury foreperson stood, his hand clasping a folded piece of paper that contained the answer to six months of my life—six months filled with detailed strategy sessions, long nights spent poring over deposition transcripts, and the relentless tension of cross-examinations.
The judge, a gray-haired woman with a face carved from stone, nodded toward the foreperson.
“Madam Foreperson, has the jury reached a verdict?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Please read it.”
As I prepared to hear that verdict, the weight of each decision, each moment of doubt, loomed large in my mind. No matter the outcome, I was aware that moment was theculmination of a battle fought not just in the courtroom, but within my own heart and mind.
I held my breath as the foreperson unfolded the paper.
“In the matter of Harrison vs. Golden State Freight,” she announced clearly, “we, the jury, find in favor of the plaintiff… awarding damages in the amount of four point seven million dollars.”
My shoulders dropped. The relief hit me first, then the satisfaction.
Four point seven million! Hell yeah!I almost screamed right there in the courtroom.
That kind of money didn’t just restore my client’s career; it rebuilt their life. And for me? It meant another cool million in my account. But more than the paycheck, I loved what I did for a living—fighting, winning, and knowing I’d tilted the scales of justice in my client’s favor. That rush? I’d chase it every day if I could.
I could almost feel the weight of the oppressive burden lifting off my client’s shoulders, too, as I glanced at him. He sat motionless in his seat, his eyes wide, processing the victory that had eluded him for far too long.
On the opposite end, the defense attorney shifted uncomfortably, his expression growing increasingly tense as he realized the gravity of the verdict. I could sense his thoughts racing, already strategizing about his next move.
The judge thanked the jury and dismissed them.
My client, Mr. Harrison, turned to me with glassy eyes. “You saved me,” he whimpered.
I smiled. “No, we told the truth; they just listened.”
When the gavel banged for the final time, I finally let out the breath I’d been holding since that morning.
My colleague, Aaron, leaned toward me, grinning from ear to ear.
“That’s the win you needed, Kamira. Not many thought you’d pull it off, but damn—you did. Four-point-seven million? You just made history in there.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “History’s nice, but you and I both know I’m already eyeing the next one. I don’t slow down, Aaron. You should know that by now.”
Aaron smirked. “Still… take a second to let this one sink in and actually focus on your wedding. Stop living in this courthouse. You earned it.”
And I did.
I’d worked for every single piece of that life—the respect, the salary, the stability. None of those things were handed to me, and nobody could say I didn’t earn any of it. I was the youngest employee at the firm where I worked. Not to mention, I had recently made partner. At the age of thirty, I had a title people twice my age had been clawing after for years. I specialized in corporate litigation and high-stakes contract disputes, which meant I lived in a world where sharks swam in suits and smiled while they waited for you to bleed.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it was mine—my hard-earned domain in the relentless world of law. The hours were brutal, often stretching late into the night, and coffee became my lifeline as I balanced case files and court dates. The competition was cutthroat, filled with seasoned attorneys who would do anything to gain an edge, and I had amassed a list of enemies in the legal world long enough to fill a filing cabinet. Some were colleagues I had outsmarted in court, while others were simply unable to accept that I, a thirty-year -old BLACK woman, had claimed a seat at a table they believed belonged to them.
But I loved the strategy, the mind games, and the rush of winning. I’d worked my way up from unpaid internships to the courtroom, from being the quiet associate no one thought twice about to the attorney they dreaded seeing on the opposingside. Each late night spent pouring over case law, every missed holiday with family, and every relationship that faded as I threw myself into my work, all contributed to the life I had carved out for myself.
As I gathered my files into my leather briefcase, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn’t even have to look at the screen to know who it was.
