The Saint Marcos afternoon heat clung stubbornly to the city, even past September. Traffic pulsed on the roads leading downtown, a relentless stream of metal and exhaust. Jeff, a newcomer to L-state, despite it not being his first visit, relied heavily on his phone's navigation, a digital lifeline in an unfamiliar urban sprawl.
He drove with uncharacteristic calm, no hint of his usual impatience. Then, his phone buzzed. A quick glance revealed Miles Henris, his friend, on the line.
"What's up?" Jeff held the phone to his right ear.
"I'm in town tomorrow for a work trip to Saint Marcos. Thought I'd swing by and see you," Miles' voice, usually vibrant, sounded weary through the speaker.
"Sounds good." A red light flared ahead, painting the intersection in a stop-sign glow. Jeff braked smoothly, the slight, protesting squeal of rubber against asphalt a sharp, almost theatrical sound that carried clearly over the phone line.
"You driving? Where you headed?" Miles asked, the faint click of a lighter and the rustle of a cigarette following his words.
"Court."
The afternoon sun, a brazen glare, forced Jeff to put on his sunglasses. He rolled up the windows, sealing himself in the cool hum of the AC.
Miles chuckled, a tired rasp. "First day and you're already in court?"
Jeff, feeling a familiar prickle of irritation, clarified, "Traffic Court!"
Miles got it then, and a hearty laugh boomed from the other end of the line.
An hour earlier, the infuriating phone call had ended, but not before Jeff had vehemently denied the traffic violation. The voice on the other end, polite yet firm, had informed him of the evidence submitted by the "reporting party" and the standard procedure for contesting a citation.
"...Sir, I understand your concern, but the reporting party has provided ample evidence. I urge you to comply with the instructions on your citation. If you disagree, you can immediately file a request for a court hearing with the City Traffic Court..." The voice was still droning when Jeff cut him off.
"Wait, you said someone reported me? Who was it?"
A sharp, almost photographic image flashed in his mind: a tall, blond man with chiseled features, his expression as cold and unyielding as raw iron.
"I'm afraid I cannot disclose that information, sir. My apologies."
"Fine. Just give me the address for the Traffic Court. I'll be there."
Jeff arrived at the courthouse, a monolithic building bustling with activity. The sheer volume of people was a surprise. He spotted a directional sign tucked away in a corner of the ground-floor lobby: Traffic Court, Second Floor, Right Wing.
He navigated the throng, pushing through the murmuring crowd until he reached the second-floor courtroom. It was packed. A trial was already underway. The judge, a middle-aged woman with a striking cascade of auburn hair, presided with an air of dignified grace. Her expression was kind, almost approachable. Before her, to the left, stood a mild-mannered man in his late forties or early fifties, spectacles perched on his nose, accompanied by his lawyer – a sharp, well-dressed young man in his thirties, impeccably tailored suit and earnest face.
On the other side of the courtroom, Jeff's eyes landed on a woman with a sleek brown ponytail, her back to him, clad in a striped skirt. The silhouette felt oddly familiar. As she subtly shifted, Jeff's recognition clicked: it was the D.S.A. he'd met in the office just that morning!
"I'm not sure what this case entails that warrants the presence of our D.S.A., Ms. Akkas," Judge Murray began, her voice a warm, clear contralto. "Ms. Akkas, please proceed with your statement."
"Yes, Your Honor. The defendant, Leif Silas, was detected with a severely elevated blood alcohol content by our officer last Thursday on the street near his company. He was also driving recklessly and refused a chemical test. This is his second DUI offense, though he's currently out on bail. The prosecution requests the court to impose a mandatory 60-day jail sentence for dual DUI charges against Mr. Silas!" Aylla Akkas's voice, though firm, carried a hint of the exhaustion Jeff had noted earlier.
"Your Honor," the defense lawyer, Mr. White, interjected smoothly, his voice a polished counterpoint,
"I vehemently dispute the veracity of the police department's report. According to my client's recollection, the young, inexperienced officer failed to conduct the test properly. He did not maintain the mandated 15-minute continuous observation of my client; instead, he was preoccupied with a personal phone call. Furthermore, Mr. Silas suffers from hypoglycemia and, due to his medical condition, must be prepared to replenish his sugar levels at all times. Shortly before his unlawful arrest, he consumed a significant amount of glucose tablets and fruit juice. This, Your Honor, is a blatant case of police misconduct! I have here Mr. Silas's medical report confirming his condition, as well as dashcam footage from his vehicle that corroborates his account!"
With a flourish, Mr. White handed Judge Murray a stack of carefully prepared paper reports and a sleek laptop.
Judge Murray donned her glasses, first scanning the reports, then meticulously reviewing the ten-second video. Indeed, just as the lawyer had stated, the young officer's alcohol test procedure clearly showed significant irregularities.
She took off her glasses, turning to the bailiff, Officer Cade.
"Where is the new officer? Can he be present today?" she inquired.
Cade, a burly figure with hands on his broad hips, replied, "He's apparently on sick leave, Your Honor. Said he ate something bad, he's hospitalized."
A sigh escaped Judge Murray. "D.S.A. Akkas, at this moment, I cannot grant your request. The young officer's procedural error makes this DUI charge appear unsubstantiated."
Sensing the tide turning against her, Aylla pressed on. "Your Honor, Mr. Silas is incredibly cunning. Our investigation reveals he's involved in far more than just minor traffic violations. He's linked to multiple financial fraud cases and poses a serious threat to public safety. Therefore, the people strongly urges the court to reconsider his bail. We request you revoke his bail immediately!"
Before the judge could respond, Mr. White interjected again, his voice rising in indignation. "If what you say is true, then present your evidence, Ms. Akkas! Otherwise, cease slandering my client!"
The two lawyers were clearly on the verge of a full-blown verbal spar. Judge Murray, her patience wearing thin, held up a pencil-clutching right hand, stemming the rising tide of contention.
"Enough! Ms. Akkas, if you can submit credible evidence now, I will consider the revocation."
Faced with the judge's demand, the D.S.A. remained silent. The lawyer's lips curled into a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk. He seized the moment, requesting the judge to put an end to this "malicious persecution."
"Your Honor, I now request you to rule, declare my client not guilty, and dismiss the DUI charge."
But Judge Murray was resolute. "No, no. I haven't declared Mr. Silas not guilty. The truth regarding Mr. Silas's highly anomalous alcohol test results remains unclear. We are currently missing the testimony of that crucial new officer. We're just one step away from understanding the truth, so it's too early to make a conclusion. Mr. Silas's bail remains in effect. The next hearing is scheduled for next Tuesday!"
Judge Murray's gavel struck the wood, announcing the continuance of the hearing.
The brief courtroom skirmish subsided, and the court swiftly prepared to return to its regular pace. Judge Murray took a sip of water, resuming her duties.
"Alright, next case."
The bailiff was about to call the next defendant when Jeff, seizing his moment, stepped forward to the bench.
"Excuse me, Your Honor," he interjected, "could you possibly hear my case first?"
Judge Murray, looking up, eyed the sudden appearance of the young man with an unreadable expression. "And you are?" she inquired, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
Jeff advanced quickly, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I'm the new AUSA." He smoothly produced his credentials from his jacket pocket, handing them to Judge Murray.
Murray took the ID, scanned it briefly, then returned it. "Alright," she said, her tone softening, "what can I do for you?"
Officer Cade, the duty officer, immediately stepped in. "Your Honor, he's not next," he stated, flipping through his case list and then addressing Jeff. "What's your name, sir?"
"Jeff Akiyama," Jeff replied without hesitation.
Judge Murray, however, cut them off. "Officer Cade, we have a few minutes. Let's hear what our new AUSA has to say."
Cade, looking visibly annoyed, thumbed through his thick case list book, but after several pages, he found no mention of Jeff's name.
"Your name isn't here, sir. When was your violation?" Cade demanded, his voice laced with impatience.
"This morning."
At Jeff's reply, the portly Officer Cade slammed his case list shut, a look of pure disdain on his face.
"Today, we're only handling traffic violations from last week! Your violation won't be heard for at least three days! The precinct will notify you of the exact time, but you're wasting everyone's time now..."
His words were cut short. A sudden, powerful hush fell over the packed courtroom as four or five figures strode purposefully through the main doors.
Leading them was an exceptionally tall man with a commanding presence. He had dark blond hair, a sharply defined nose, and deep-set, penetrating eyes. His skin was bronzed, and his impeccably tailored officer's uniform, complete with gleaming shoulder boards and a distinctive breast badge, unmistakably proclaimed his authority.
"Caspian Fowler, you are under arrest for the suspected murder of Emmett Mill!"
The arresting detective, radiating an almost palpable intensity, led his team directly into the crowd queuing on the right side of the courtroom. He moved with swift, decisive action, his large hand seizing a balding, middle-aged man who had tried to melt into the throng. The man struggled, a desperate, futile attempt to escape, but he was quickly subdued. The surrounding crowd recoiled in alarm, creating an immediate, empty circle around the commotion.
Realizing escape was impossible, the man shrieked, "Let me go! I'm innocent! You've got the wrong person!"
The three officers behind the imposing detective held the suspect firmly. The new arrivals instantly became the focal point of the entire courtroom. Every single person watched in stunned silence as the drama unfolded.
Jeff had recognized him immediately. What an incredible coincidence! He'd run into this man again, here of all places. So, he hadn't been lying; he really was an SAC from the Bureau.
As Jeff scanned Blackwell and his team, his gaze met that of a young man roughly his own age, with thick, dark eyebrows and a vibrant, almost restless energy.
Isn't that the ASA from this morning? Alejandro, I think. Jeff recognized yet another familiar face.
Alejandro's first reaction was a slight squint, his eyebrows knitting together in surprise. His astonishment at Jeff's presence was clear.
"You? Jeff, right? What are you doing here?" Alejandro asked first, his voice hushed.
"Just handling some other business," Jeff replied, offering a vague explanation.
With the three officers leading the suspect away, the courtroom's silence deepened. Blackwell approached the bench, making a calm suggestion to the judge.
"Your Honor, perhaps you could process this prosecutor's traffic violation first. He seems rather... pressed for time," Blackwell offered, not forgetting to cast a quick, knowing glance at Jeff, who stood behind him.
Judge Murray, clearly familiar with the Bureau's personnel, nodded. "Alright, Mr. Akiyama," she said, "tell us about your traffic violation. What happened?"
Jeff, still bristling with indignation, moved to the bench, deliberately keeping a respectful distance from Blackwell. "This is all a complete misunderstanding, Your Honor!" he began, his voice tight. "I had a minor collision with this detective right here at the Mark Street intersection. He hit *me*! But he's claiming I cut him off and ran a red light!"
"Was anyone injured?" Judge Murray asked kindly.
"No, and his motorcycle's fine. It's just my Lexus that's got a huge dent!" Jeff exclaimed, his frustration evident.
Noting his intense reaction, Blackwell calmly pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and handed it to the judge.
"Yes, I did make contact with his vehicle, Your Honor. However, the AUSA's unsafe lane change and running of the red light are both undeniable facts. This is the intersection's surveillance video from that time."
Murray took the phone, adjusted her glasses, and watched the brief, ten-second clip. A small, knowing smile touched her lips. She returned the phone to Blackwell and addressed Jeff.
"Mr. Prosecutor," she said, her voice gentle but firm, "I can appreciate your frustration, but there's really nothing to dispute here. You simply need to follow the police department's instructions, pay the fine, and accept the points. That's all there is to it." Judge Murray removed her glasses and delivered a final, symbolic rap of her gavel.
Blackwell met Jeff's gaze, a slight, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips—was it mockery or amusement? Even Officer Cade, who'd been listening with bored indifference, found the whole affair trivial. Standing behind Jeff, Alejandro stifled a laugh, finally understanding why he'd been late to the office that morning.
The verdict left Jeff feeling utterly absurd. Not only was he getting points on his license, but on his very first day, he'd made a complete fool of himself in front of colleagues he'd be seeing regularly. Jeff adjusted the knot of his yellow tie, trying to mask his embarrassment, then turned and walked out.
He'd just stepped through the main courthouse doors when his phone buzzed. A text message. It was from the car rental company manager, informing him that the car was insured and he needn't worry about compensation. He just needed to return the car to their office as soon as possible.
Jeff let out a sigh of relief. As he pocketed his phone, the man from behind him stopped beside him, offering what sounded like genuinely helpful advice in a low, magnetic voice: "The police department is holding a free traffic safety awareness event this weekend. A friend of mine is hosting it. Want his number?"
Jeff turned, seeing that it was Blackwell again. He politely declined the "kind offer."
"Thanks, but no."
He then weaved through the busy crowd, making his way down to the first floor alone.
Blackwell watched him descend, his gaze following until Jeff disappeared from view. His eyes held a curious, almost distant quality.
Alejandro, emerging from the restroom, saw Blackwell standing alone in the less crowded section of the second-floor hallway, hands in his pockets, staring into space.
"What are you looking at? Let's grab lunch."
Blackwell replied, "Nothing. Was that the new prosecutor, just now?"
"Yeah," Alejandro scratched his head.
"How long's he staying?"
"I don't know, at least a couple of months."
"Alright, you head downstairs. I'll be right there."
Alejandro, eager for lunch, didn't give it another thought. He hurried away from the second floor; his stomach was rumbling, having been dragged into work by Blackwell right after the morning meeting.
Blackwell walked to a quieter, less crowded end of the second-floor hallway and made a call.
"Clay, I need you to run a name for me: Jeff Akiyama..."