I had always been better on my feet than sitting down.
It was a professional quirk that my law school professors had noted in my first year, the specific quality of my arguments improved when I was standing, when the physical act of occupying space aligned with the mental act of constructing a case. Sitting was for preparation. Standing was for the truth.
I stood at the prosecution's podium at nine-fifteen the following morning and looked out at the courtroom at the jury, at DA Chen at the table beside me, at the gallery packed with observers who had read last night's news coverage of Tobias Prescott's dramatic self-representation announcement and had decided that this was worth showing up for and I felt, for the first time since I had walked into the De Knight Hotel in a black lace dr
