The trial started on a cold Monday morning in November.
I wore a conservative navy suit. Hair pulled back. Minimal makeup. Michael wanted me to look professional. Respectable. Like someone the jury could sympathize with.
Not like a criminal.
Dante sat in the front row behind the defense table. He'd wanted to sit beside me but Michael said it would look bad. Make it seem like I was still connected to organized crime.
So he sat there watching. His face calm but his eyes worried.
The courtroom filled up. Press. Public. People who wanted to watch a former FBI agent get destroyed.
The prosecutor was the same one from my arrest. David Chen. Young, ambitious, looking to make a name for himself.
And I was his ticket to fame.
The judge entered. An older woman named Patricia Hoffman. Stern l
