I’m led into the courtroom of the Marin County Courthouse in cuffs, but I’m spared the khaki-colored jumpsuit I was given last night to sleep in while I enjoyed overnight accommodations at the Marin County Sheriff’s Department. Sela had brought one of my suits to Doug, who met with me in a private counseling room just off the courtroom where my arraignment would be held. He went through the process again of what would happen, although he’d talked to me about it briefly last night after I’d been booked.

He tried to be reassuring, telling me the evidence was all circumstantial, but I was not reassured, since he told me just a few days prior that most convictions were based purely on circumstantial evidence. The arrest warrant was lean on details, but he said it met the probable cause standards. Motive and DNA were mentioned, but none of that surprised me. The police had made it clear they felt I had plenty of motive in the questions they’d asked me, and like I told them, I’m sure my DNA was all over JT’s house, since I’d been there numerous times in the past.

My eyes immediately go to the front row behind the defendant’s table, where I’ll be sitting with Doug, and I can feel my body swell with confidence when I see Sela and Caroline sitting side by side. I give them an encouraging smile but they’re hard-pressed to give it back. I can see terror in both their eyes.

Just behind them, I see Linda sitting there, her gaze holding me solidly with support and sympathy. She presses her fingertips to her lips, kisses them, and sends it to me with a subtle blowing of her breath. I smile differently for her; it’s one of gratitude for her being here. I have to assume my arrest was all over the news and I’m worried sick about the stability of The Sugar Bowl, but I’m going to have to assume our VP of operations will be working closely with all departments to keep things running. That’s her job on any given day.

The deputy leads me over to the table I’m to sit at, and I note Doug is bent over at the table set about ten feet from ours, talking quietly with ADA Hammond. She has a stubborn set to her chin as he motions toward a file she has sitting before her and shakes her head to deny whatever he’s asking. He straightens up and turns to me, and after the deputy removes the handcuffs, he walks over and gives a hard squeeze to my shoulder.

“Can I say hi to Sela and Caroline?” I ask him, as it’s driving me crazy to have them both sitting not five feet away.

He shakes his head and pulls his chair out from the table. “Sorry. Those cuffs only come off for you to sit at counsel table, so go ahead and take a seat.”

With a sigh, I look over my shoulder at my lover and my sister and give them a small smile before I sit down beside Doug. The courtroom is abuzz with idle chatter. It’s filled to almost capacity and I’m wondering how many of those people are reporters versus perhaps family members of other defendants who are awaiting arraignment. Or maybe even family members of victims.

My head snaps to the right and I look over my shoulder at the rows of benches behind the district attorney’s table. And sure enough, Candace and Colin Townsend are sitting there, both of them staring straight at me with cold, hard eyes. My chest squeezes painfully, because while I’m not exceptionally close to them, I’d been fond of them just from years of knowing them, despite Candace’s illicit relationship with my father. They’ve never looked at me with anything but the same fondness coupled with respect for my achievements.

I almost half expect my parents to be close to the Townsends, so my eyes scan the rest of the seats, but I don’t see them. Never in a million years would I expect them to be sitting on my side of the courtroom in support of their son, and I can’t really expect differently. In the past two days, I’d cut both of them out of my life, and I’m still fine with that decision.

Besides, had they shown up for me, that would have just been all kinds of awkward. My guess is they’re both holed up in the house right now probably cowering in shame over what their son has allegedly done.

“All rise,” I hear as a door behind the judge’s bench swings open and a bailiff steps through calling the room to order. I stand along with every other person in the courtroom. Judge Reyes—the man who apparently signed my arrest warrant—walks up the dais in a swirl of black robes. He’s a small man with ink-black hair and caramel-colored skin, and I would have thought he was Latino, but Doug told me last night he was actually from the Philippines but had dual citizenship.

Doug and I discussed Judge Reyes at length last night, because it seems that is the one good thing that has happened to me since I was arrested. Judge Reyes used to be a criminal defense attorney, and while judges are supposed to be impartial, he has a slight bend in favor of the defense side. It’s not to say he’s going to wave a magic wand and release me, but Doug assured me I couldn’t have landed a judge more devoted to ensure the prosecution plays nicely by the rules.

He also told me that nothing much was going to happen today. The arraignment was nothing more than to advise me of my constitutional rights, read the charges against me, and give me the opportunity to plead guilty or not. Then Doug will have a slight battle on his hands to try to get me released on bail.

“All right,” Judge Reyes says as he picks up a file from his raised desk. He opens it, peruses a document. “We have the matter of the State versus Beckett North before us.”

The judge looks up from the document to me, and Doug stands from his chair and I follow suit. “Mr. North…you’ve been charged with first-degree murder by the state of California. It’s my job to advise you of your constitutional rights. First, you have the right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford one, the state will appoint one to you at no cost. I see you’re represented by Mr. Doug Shriver though, so that’s a moot point. Second, you have the right against self-incrimination. That means at no point can you be compelled to give testimony that could implicate you in this crime. You are also entitled to a speedy trial as well as a trial by a jury of your peers. Now, I’m sure your attorney has gone over these with you, but do you understand these rights as I’ve just read them?”

“I do, Your Honor,” I say confidently, although quite frankly, my knees are shaking.

“And how would you like to plead to these charges, Mr. North?” he asks.

“Not guilty,” I reply with even more strength in my voice.

I didn’t fucking do it, so it’s not like I’m acting.

“Duly noted,” Judge Reyes says, making a notation in the file before him. “I’m going to set the preliminary hearing for Monday at ten A.M.”

This surprises me. It’s Friday and I didn’t think things would move that fast.

ADA Hammond stands swiftly from her chair. “Your Honor, the state would ask for a bit more time. The law states the preliminary hearing can be set up to ten days from arraignment.”

Judge Reyes sounds completely bored. “Actually, Miss Hammond, what the law truly says is that it can be set within ten days of the arraignment. I suppose one could argue that I could set it for tomorrow if I was so inclined to bring you good folks back on a Saturday but as it is, I have a birthday party to attend for my granddaughter so you’re off the hook. I’ll see all parties here Monday at ten A.M.”

Hammond sits back down in a huff.

“Now, let’s discuss bail,” Judge Reyes says.

Hammond jumps back up from her chair so quickly it slides back and knocks into the half wall that separates the seating gallery. “Your Honor, the state would oppose any bail and requests the defendant be remanded. This was a grisly crime fueled by aggravating factors that will be revealed at the prelim, and the defendant is a danger to society. Furthermore, he is a man of immense wealth and has the ability to flee if he were released.”

Judge Reyes, still looking quite bored, turns to my attorney. “Mr. Shriver?”

“Your Honor, Miss Hammond is right…this was a grisly crime, but seeing as how they’ve arrested an innocent man, that shouldn’t have anything to do with your decision. Mr. North deserves the presumption of innocence as the law requires. And while we can’t do anything about the fact that he is indeed rich, you can set the bail high enough to make it hurt if he runs and merely ask him to surrender his passport, which will ensure he cannot run. Seems quite simple to me.”

Man, I love this guy. He’s slightly snarky, but so well reasoned you can’t argue with what he says. At least I can’t.

Judge Reyes nods at Doug and says, “Bail is set at five million dollars and the defendant will surrender his passport until after the trial.”

“Your Honor,” Hammond says in an almost whiny voice. “If you’re not going to remand him, at least order house arrest with an ankle bracelet.”

Judge Reyes looks to Doug with his eyebrows raised, conveying it’s his turn to counterargue.

“Again, in the eyes of this court, Mr. North is presumed innocent. He has a large corporation to run and over fifty people who depend on him for jobs. He must have the freedom to continue to operate his business. If you must have control over him, simply order him to stay within the state of California unless he has business elsewhere, and at that time, the court can decide whether or not he can travel outside of California but within the boundaries of this country.”

Reyes doesn’t even pause. “Agreed and so ordered. Is there anything else before I move on to the next case?”

“No, Your Honor,” Doug says politely.

“Not from the state,” Hammond says in a sulky voice.

“Very well, Bailiff…call the next case.”

Over the next hour, I’m shuttled back over to the Sheriff’s Department, this time without handcuffs, and I’m processed out of their system. I get back my clothes, wallet, phone, and watch. Doug stays with me the entire time while I insisted that Sela and Caroline go back to the condo. He tells me that the preliminary hearing will be nothing more than the state providing their evidence and Judge Reyes will determine if it’s sufficient to push this to trial.

Doug tells me that the prelim is going to make or break me.

He never once asks me if I killed JT.