table. 'I have a lot of reading to do before the session begins.'
Jenkins' face flushed a deeper shade of red. 'Are you deaf? I told you to get out. You are not authorized to
be in the well.'
'I think you'll find that I am,' Arthur replied softly.
efore Jenkins could escalate the situation further, the heavy courtroom doors swung open
again. In walked Martha Higgins, the chief court clerk. Martha was a whirlwind of efficiency, a
woman in her late fifties who ran the administrative side of Courtroom 302 with an iron fist and a sharp
mind.
She carried a massive stack of manila folders—the morning docket—and a large cup of iced tea. She was
muttering to herself about scheduling conflicts as she marched down the aisle.
'Jenkins, I need you to make sure the audio system is working today, the last judge complained about
static—' Martha stopped mid-sentence as she noticed the standoff in the well.
She looked at Jenkins, who was standing aggressively near a man in a tweed jacket. She then looked at
the man in the jacket.
Martha's eyes widened in recognition. She had been on the hiring committee that interviewed the new
judge. She knew exactly who the man in the tweed jacket was.
Martha, good morning,' Jenkins said, his eyes still locked on Arthur. 'I'm just clearing out a
trespasser. Guy was sitting right in the judge's chair.'
Martha froze, her eyes darting between the proud bailiff and the mildly amused man leaning against the
table.