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last update2025-04-21 16:01:47

It's 10 o'clock when I reach Jill's law firm; her assistant takes me to her office. It's a corner office with white chairs and a glass table, with various awards and certificates on the wall.

“Mr Salazar, good morning,” she greets

I turn and face her. She's wearing a tailored black suit, her hair packed into a tight, low bun, not a strand out of place.

She radiated confidence and power. She took a seat on her couch and gestured for me to sit on the other side. She cleared her throat.

“Okay, I want you to know that if I'm going to be your lawyer, you're going to have to tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; don't leave anything out,”

“That's the only way I can help you,” she added.

“And as your lawyer, anything you tell me is confidential; you can trust me,” she reassures.

“So you'll be my lawyer then?”

"Yes, I will. I'm in. You came to the right person.” she vouched

“This is what I do; this is why I have a $100,000 retainer.”

“I take the cases no one will touch, and I win, and your case will be no different.”

“$100,000?” I exclaim, staring at her wide-eyed

Well, if she can get me out of this, we can figure something out. I can borrow money from Michael, and some friends can take an extra job.

“We'll figure something out,” she promised.

I take a few deep breaths and clean my sweaty palm on my jeans.

"Okay, so let's get right into it." She gets a notepad from her desk and writes something down.

“So could you tell me what happened that night?”

I tell her everything, leaving nothing out.

“So around what time did you get to the hotel?”

“I got to the hotel around 9:37,” she writes it down.

“What time did you leave?” she questions

“I don't know, I think 11 or there about I didn't check the time, I explained.

“So what, time, did you get home, and how did you get home?”

“I took a cab,” I replied.

“What time did you get home?”.

“I don't know,” I confess.

I don't remember it's a bit blurry. I had a few drinks, but I wasn't drunk. If I knew I would be accused of murder, I would have taken note of it hell; I wouldn't have left the house at all.

“But I made a transfer to the cab driver when I got home,” I told her.

I pull out my phone, and the time shows 11:42 as the time of transfer, so I show her that.

“I'm asking about the time so we can establish a timeline. The police are going to be very particular about it, and if this goes to trial, we need to prove you didn't have the time to kill her.”

“It’s important to get a clear picture,” she continues.

“It’s my job to defend you, to make sure that you’re given the best advice possible. I can only do that if you tell me everything.”

“Your story has to be checked out.”

She goes on about getting the case files from the police, knowing what evidence the prosecutor has against me, hiring a blood splatter expert to review the pictures of the hotel room, reviewing CCTV camera footage of the hotel, and hiring a private investigator to dig into Cassidy's life and check out her husband and any other person in her life.

She's saying so many things my head is spinning; it's too much. She senses my uneasiness and offers me a glass of water, which I take. She continues.

She takes out her phone and checks something, then she turns to me.

“Right. Okay, Manuel, this is where we are now. The case has been transferred, and the next court appearance will be the plea and trial preparation hearing. That’s when you’ll enter a plea to the indictment.”

“That’s not for a few weeks, though. Is it?” I question.

“Four weeks away. We’ve got very little by way of evidence from the prosecution at the moment, but they’ll serve more soon. I hope”

“We need to go through all the evidence before that hearing. As I said, you will need to enter a plea at that stage, and if it’s not guilty, then a date will be set for the trial.”

“And if it’s guilty?” I ask,

“Then the matter will be adjourned immediately for sentence.”

“If convicted, you'll be facing life for murder.”.

So if I'm convicted, I'll be in prison forever.

“We need to start working on your defense in case we need it, but for now I'm going to try and file a motion to dismiss, on the claim of circumstantial evidence and see what happens.”

“Go home and get some rest; it's going to be a long couple of weeks,” she admits.

Her assistant comes rushing in and turns on the television. It's an interview with a man, a lawyer, I presume.

Jill tells me his name is Logan Sanders; he works in the DA’s office and is the prosecutor for this case, and just like her, he is very good at his job.

“I am the prosecutor for this case and I will leave no stone unturned to make sure Manuel Salazar is sent to prison for this gruesome act,” he proclaimed.

“It has come to my knowledge that he's being represented by Jill Baker, who defends the worst types of people, but even she can't help him.”

She turns off the television. I face her, my mind and heart racing, and I start circling the room.

“Mr. Salazar, calm down and trust me. He's good, but I'm better. I have never lost a case. I'm not about to start now.”

“Go home, rest, eat, and prepare for anything and everything that might happen. Let me do my job.”

I am about to leave when I turn to her and ask

“How come you didn't ask me whether I did it or not?”

“It's my job to defend you, whether you did it or not. Innocent until proven guilty.”

I turn and take my leave, but then she stops me, hands me her business card, and tells me to call her if I remember anything.

And then I go home to prepare for the fight for my freedom.

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  • Blood and Motive   7

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  • 4

    It's 10 o'clock when I reach Jill's law firm; her assistant takes me to her office. It's a corner office with white chairs and a glass table, with various awards and certificates on the wall.“Mr Salazar, good morning,” she greets I turn and face her. She's wearing a tailored black suit, her hair packed into a tight, low bun, not a strand out of place.She radiated confidence and power. She took a seat on her couch and gestured for me to sit on the other side. She cleared her throat.“Okay, I want you to know that if I'm going to be your lawyer, you're going to have to tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; don't leave anything out,” “That's the only way I can help you,” she added. “And as your lawyer, anything you tell me is confidential; you can trust me,” she reassures. “So you'll be my lawyer then?”"Yes, I will. I'm in. You came to the right person.” she vouched “This is what I do; this is why I have a $100,000 retainer.”“I take the cases no one wil

  • 3

    I wake up the next morning and I can't get out of bed. I just stare at the ceiling, my hands behind my head, thinking of my next move, and that's when I decide I'm going to look for Jill Baker and convince her to be my lawyer.I get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. I see my reflection in the mirror. I look like I've aged 5 years in the past few days.I take a nice long hot shower to calm my nerves, brush my teeth, and comb my hair. I get ready, putting on jeans, a black sweatshirt, a black cap, and dark sunglasses so no one recognizes me. My picture is all over the news. I don't want to draw attention to myself.I type Jill Baker into the search bar on my phone, and I see she works at a firm called Ross & Baker. I copy the address, and I'm on my way.I take the train, and on the train ride to upper Manhattan, I go through articles about Cassidy's death saying all sorts of things about me.~Manwhore kills client after she refuses to pay.~~Sex went wrong as woman dies in ha

  • 2

    I've been here for two days now. I haven't been allowed a phone call, appointed a lawyer, or allowed any visitors.Just me in a jail cell. It's quiet—too quiet. All I can hear is the air conditioner cooling.After the detectives questioned me, an officer brought me to a cell and locked me in there ever since.The first night here was hard. I had to sleep on the iron bench, and my back hurts.I couldn't sleep. I could only replay my interview with the detectives and think of Cassidy.The letters from the photo are burned into my mind. They are all I can think about.I've been questioned again, but this time, it was just Detective Dan. He was much calmer this time and asked if he could get me anything.Dan is a lot younger than Nathan; you could tell by the way he dressed and styled his hair.He was a white man with blue eyes and a mustache, not as tall as Nathan, but he was just as muscular.He asked me for the truth, and I told him, but he said he couldn't help me if I didn't tell him

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