The night dragged on for fucking forever. There was no chance of me sleeping, too many thoughts are whirling around in my head. Too many questions. Am I really hated so much? Have I been an intolerable prick? And, on and on. The shouting and banging from other cells didn’t help my mood any.

An officer approaches my cell. “Alexander?”

I stand and approach the door. “Yes.”

The door is unlocked and a tray is shoved into my hands.

“Officers will be here in an hour to take you to the Courthouse. They will have your belongings with them so you can finish getting ready.

“Thank you.” I figure it can’t hurt to be polite. I accept the tray and while he locks the door, I return to sit on the bed. The tray holds some sort of slop in a bowl, toast which is cold and lukewarm coffee. I settle for the coffee knowing any attempt to eat would cause me to puke.

The hour drags by painfully slow, but eventually two officers approach, and unlock my cell door. One of them carries my suit jacket on a coat hanger. It appears to have been pressed and, when it is handed to me, I note it is wrinkle free. I check my other belongings and note everything is there. I sign the paper thrust in front of me confirming nothing is missing.

I hurry to get ready. The cuffs are snapped into place before I’m marched to the elevator, down to the basement and shoved into a vehicle.

The traffic is steady and the car seems to take forever to travel the few blocks to the Courthouse. If you get the impression everything is moving in slow motion, you would be right. Why the fuck do bad things happen so slowly?

We enter the basement of a building and the driver parks the car. The basement and elevator are remarkably similar to those back at the police station. Upstairs I’m taken to a room and when the door opens, an elderly balding man is seated at a table inside. A chair opposite is dragged out and I’m encouraged to sit.

“We’ll be outside the door.” One of the officers speaks to the man before both vacate the room.

“Mr. Alexander, my name is Clive Williams. I’ve been appointed by the court to be your Defense Attorney as you have no funds for a private Attorney. I was a good friend of your father so this won’t be easy.”

Fucking great. Like I asked before, is there no-one in this fucking town who wasn’t a friend of Joshua’s?

“Tell me why you stole the money and threatened your father and brother with violence.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Violence? You have to be fucking joking. I didn’t take anything from them, or the business, that wasn’t mine and I’ve never threatened either of them. Although, I was fucking tempted on a few occasions.”

Clive withdraws a sheet of paper from the folder before him and pushes it toward me. It’s an affidavit stating I threatened my father and brother with bodily harm if they didn’t return the Pope account to me. It’s signed by my fucking asshole brother. No. Not brother, half-brother. I thank God he is only my half-brother.

“This is bullshit. I didn’t threaten them at all. Mr. Pope insisted on dealing with me so they had to put me back on the account.”

Another sheet of paper is withdrawn from the folder displaying my name on the front. Clive shoves it across the table toward me. It’s another affidavit, signed by Pope. It states he was informed of my threats against Joshua and Samuel and, for the sake of their safety, he reluctantly agreed to allow me to manage his account.”

I push the sheet back at Clive. “He’s a fucking liar. That is not what happened.”