Hollow Weekend

Chapter 8

POV: Naomi Clarke

Some cases smell rotten from the moment they land on my desk but this one reeked. It wasn’t just the media frenzy or the political undertones that made my skin prickle, it was the timing, the precision. s****l assault cases can be messy, chaotic, but this… this felt orchestrated. Like someone had choreographed every headline before the first report was filed.

I pushed aside the stack of unrelated briefs on my desk and opened the folder marked Cole, Jaden. The arrest warrant. The complaint. The grainy stills from a hotel hallway camera. The partial audio clip that had already gone viral. Every piece felt curated, handpicked to bury him.

And that made me curious… who could be behind this?

Somewhere between thoughts, I heard a knock on my office door, light and hesitant.

“Come in,” I said.

Melanie Hart stepped inside. Her hair was loose, framing a face that had learned how to wear composure like makeup. But I’d seen her eyes yesterday, red-rimmed, fractured. She was steadier today, but I could tell she was holding it together by sheer force of will.

“You said you wanted to start digging,” she said without preamble.

I gestured to the chair across from me. “Sit. We’ll start with what you know, and we’ll work our way to what we can prove.”

“All I know is Jaden didn’t do it. He didn’t” Melanie reiterated. Her heart was visibly beating fast.

“As much as this makes sense, we cannot convince the court by just saying it, we have to dig, which I’ve already started, but we need a bigger Intel” I replied.

Melanie hesitated. “Wouldn’t it be easier to go straight to Camila? If she’s lying, she’ll slip.”

“Eventually,” I agreed, “but she’s not our first move. And for some reason, she’s been nowhere to be found since the reports, but if someone put her up to this, we need to know who.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “So how do we start?”

“We go backwards. Bank statements, phone logs, location data, anything that shows contact between Camila and whoever the mysterious person is before the night in question. But I can’t subpoena that yet, not without a judge. Which means we need something preliminary. Something dirty enough to justify digging deeper.”

She tilted her head. “So, where do I come in?”

I smiled faintly. “I thought you’d never ask. You know Jaden’s habits, his routines, places he goes, people he talks to, and this place in question, where it all allegedly happened. I’d like you to sniff around to see what you can find. That’s Intel I can’t get from a court order.”

We spent the next hour building a map. Melanie listed everything, every mutual acquaintance who might have seen something, every detail about his apartment and office. I took notes, marking points of interest like a general planning a siege.

By the time she finished, the air between us had shifted. This wasn’t just a desperate girlfriend pleading for her partner’s freedom. She was sharpening into something else, an ally, and a weapon.

“Naomi,” she said finally, “if we find something… real, something that proves he was set up”

“We don’t go to the press,” I cut in. “We take it to court. And we bury the accuser there.”

For a moment, the corner of her mouth curved, not into a smile, but something colder. “Good.”

“But I do have my worries” I chipped in with a deep breathe.

“And what could that be?” Melanie questioned curiously.

“The legal personnel the accuser has hired, Brielle Madden, she’s tough” I replied. Voice low but sharp.

“Okay, that means what exactly?” Melanie asked with closer attention.

“Just subtle clues that someone’s behind this, of all lawyers in the country, you hire the biggest and the baddest, who happens to be a die-hard advocate of feminism and… I wouldn’t say friend, but… we have a long history from college” I explained, allowing the nostalgia to sink in.

“You two know each other, which should give you a bit of an edge right?” Melanie spoke positively. But she wasn’t quite getting it.

“Brielle is an animal… a beast who would stop at nothing to win… and I happen to be her favourite meal… but not to worry, we can handle this” I assured Melanie, even though I felt jitters myself.

“And to do that, we have somewhere to be” I added.

I packed a few documents and we left my office together that afternoon. I drove with Melanie in the passenger seat, as we headed for our first stop: a criminal psychologist and journalist. A person I trusted more than most lawyers I know. I could feel Melanie watching me as I navigated through traffic.

“What?” I asked without looking over.

“You don’t scare easily,” she said.

“You can let your emotions do so much, but never allow them control you.”

There was a pause. I glanced at her briefly “we’re going to get through this, we just have to do what needs to be done”

She returned the stare and nodded softly in agreement. For the first time since this case started, I felt a flicker of certainty. Not about winning, trials are coin tosses, but about the team we were building.

Soon we arrived at Allen Avenue, an alley which housed a giant brown building, which was a collection of individually owned private offices, Arielle Monroe’s was one them.

I drove in rather unceremoniously and brought the car to a screeching halt. We got out and headed straight for the elevator, up to the 5th floor where Arielle’s office was. After the elevator’s chime, we navigated through the crowd of bodies, I led the way while Melanie followed closely behind.

A few minutes later, we reached outlet 122, the dark reflective tempered glass door slid open before we could even breathe in front of it and shut immediately behind us.

Arielle was seated deep within, separated by a non-automated door this time.

“Arielle? No way” Melanie exclaimed as she got a good view of who we’ve come to see.

“Melanie, good to see you, again” Arielle responded with warm excitement.

“I guess this joins our endless list of the unexpected” I exclaimed.