“I just did.”
“That’s not how this works.” Her tone sharpened. “As Mr. Nelson’s attorney, you are obligated to present all plea offers to him, regardless of your personal opinion. You don’t get to make this decision for him.”
I stood, planting my hands on the desk. “Simon acted inself-defense. I’m not letting you railroad him into a guilty plea when he was protecting his sister.”
“Self-defense,” Rosalind repeated, her lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That’s an interesting strategy, Anthony. Tell me, what evidence do you have that Alan Sanders posed a threat to anyone?”
My stomach dropped.
“What evidence,” she continued, her voice soft and deliberate, “will you present to the jury to prove that your client’s actions were justified? Medical records? Police reports? Witness testimony?”
I didn’t respond.
“Because from where I’m standing,” Rosalind said, “it looks like your client killed a man in a jealous rage and is now trying to justify it by claiming he was protecting his sister from abuse that was never reported, never documented, and never witnessed by anyone. Including him.”
“Sadie was abused,” I said, my voice tight. “Alan Sanders was a violent, controlling—”
“Prove it.” Rosalind’s eyes locked on mine. “Prove it in court, Anthony. Show me the evidence. Because without it, all you have is a confession and a dead body.”
She straightened and closed the folder, but she didn’t pick it up.
“This offer guarantees a definite sentence,” she said. “No risk of life in prison. No death penalty—”
“You’ll never get the death penalty,” I growled.
Rosalind shrugged as if her threat didn’t matter. “Your client could be out in six years and move on with his life.”
“Or he could be acquitted and walk free in three days.”
“Or he could be convicted of murder and spend the rest of his life behind bars.” She leaned forward slightly, her gaze locking on mine. “Are you willing to take that risk, Anthony? Are you willing to gamble with your client’s future when you have no evidence to support your defense?”
My hands curled into fists.
“You have forty-eight hours to present this offer to Mr. Nelson,” she said. “After that, it expires, and we proceed to trial.”
I didn’t respond.
Rosalind tilted her head, studying me with an expression that made my skin crawl.
“You know,” she said, her tone shifting to something more personal, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, Anthony. About your history.”
Something heavy sat on my chest. The urge to reach up and rub the spot was overwhelming.
“Before you left New York,” she continued, her tone softening again. “The fire. Your sister’s death. The... rumors.”
I went very still.
“There were a lot of questions back then, weren’t there?” Rosalind’s eyes never left mine. “Questions about what really happened that night. About the boyfriend. Your relationship with your sister. About whether all the facts were ever fully disclosed.”
My throat tightened. “What the fuck are you getting at?”
“I’m simply observing that your past is... similar to Mr. Nelson’s. Tragically, your sister didn’t survive.” She picked up the briefcase she had set down when she entered my office. “I wonder if you’re able to separate your past from Mr. Nelson’s future. Or are your personal feelings clouding your judgment? Whose innocence are you trying to prove, Anthony?”
“Get the fuck out of my office.”
“I’m trying to help you.” Her voice was almost gentle now, which made it worse. “I’m offering your client a way out. A way to avoid a trial that could destroy him. All you have to do is present the offer and let him make an informed decision.”
She walked to the door and paused, looking back at me.