April 12th, 2027 — Cruzita Martínez
“This is how much you’re recommending for bail?” Ed Thomas said as he stared at the brief. We were inside the courtroom, the judge about to appear.
“It’s the average amount for the charges,” I said, my stomach roiling. “I don’t think we can argue for the full amount given the non-violent nature of the charges.” My words were lies. I had orders to follow. This was one of them. Another was to tip off the media this morning. I trembled, waiting for Ed to tear into me. This was his case. He wanted to sink Clint and his family badly.
“The average,” muttered Ed. He looked over at the other table where a battalion of lawyers was crowded. Clint and his women filled the seats behind them, changed into nice clothing for the hearing. None were cuffed. They were whispering, shifting. Nervous looks flashed across them while Clint sat with rigid inflexibility. “They might get out on this.”
“And?” I asked. “They’ll have to surrender their passports. They won’t be able to leave the country. If they flee, well, that’ll give us an even bigger charge to levy at them. Really lock them up. And imagine all the press conferences you can give.”
He almost smiled. “Fine. It’s not like we have time to prepare arguments for the full amount. Since when did you play so fair?”
“Since I’m going up against half the lawyers in Sacramento,” I added. “They’ll rip apart the max. You want to lose our first hearing?”
“No.”
It was the next morning after the arrests. They were here to make their plea and for bail. Charges were filed. We interrogated them and got nothing, but the evidence from the house was damning. How Clint thought he was getting out of this without making a groveling plea deal, I had no idea. There was only so much I could do.
And so far, average bail.
“All rise,” the bailiff called, dressed in the khaki uniform, a large, Black man with a look that could intimate the most hardened criminal into silence, “the honorable Judge Coburn presiding.”
I stood up with everyone else in the court. The galley behind us was packed with the media. I was surprised to find them with their cameras. It wasn’t often that was allowed, but the judge must have made an exception giving the sensationalization of the case. He looked grumpy this morning, dressed in his black robes, his wrinkled face squinting. He was nearing retirement. Probably wanting to spend his days playing golf and finding himself another young trophy wife since the last one passed away a decade or so ago.
He sat down and grunted. His clerk handed him a docket as we all sat down. “Okay, let’s get this hearing done with. How are the defendants pleading.” He frowned. “Which one of you is speaking?”
“Me, your honor,” said Elisabet Reenburg. “I’m lead counsel for the family. It’s not guilty, your honor.”
The judge grunted, not surprised. “Then let’s move on to bail now. Ed?”
“Your honor, the state is asking for a bond of $50,000 for Clint Elliston and $25,000 for the remaining defendants. In addition, the State wants a restraining order on all defendants to have no contact with their children.”
“I see,” the judge said, jotting down notes. “And what do you have to say to that, Mrs. Reenburg?”
“Me, your honor,” said Elisabet Reenburg. “I’m lead counsel for the family. We have no problem with the no contact with children save we’d like a provision with supervised visits. We also request for the children to be placed with various family friends instead of into the foster care system. As for bail, that is an outrages amount. My clients are upstanding members of society. Pillars of the community. They are active with various charities. They are no criminals. They have not been charged with any violent crime. The State is being overly malicious with such a high amount for such a victimless crime.”
“Victimless?” demanded Ed, staring at Elisabet Reenburg.
The Blonde, mature woman faced him back with steely, blue eyes. “Victimless. After all, you have all of them being charged, so how can any of them be the victim? Unless you have further accusations?”
“Not at this time,” Ed said. “We think the bail amount is more than fair, your honor. The Ellistons are facing the disillusionment of their family. We’re afraid they might seek to flee the country. They may have the capital to do so.”
“Capital? The Ellistons live moderately well, but they are not rich. Your honor, this is a burdensome bail amount. $25,000 for the majority of them. $50,000 for Mr. Elliston. That’s crippling. As the Supreme Court said in Stack v. Boyle, ‘defendant’s bail cannot be set higher than an amount that is reasonably likely to ensure the defendant’s presence at the trial’ and is thus a violation of their Eighth Amendment rights.”
“And what would be a fair amount, Mrs. Reenburg?” asked the judge, staring at her with hands folded.
“None.”
The judge arched an eyebrow at her. “None? I can’t give them no bail.”
“The minimum,” she said. “$5000 each.”
“That’s ridiculously low,” said Ed. “They can meet that easily. As it is, they have wealthy benefactors who might post the bail that we require.”
“That might seem like a small amount, but there are eleven defendants. That adds up fast.”
“Bail will be set at $5000 for all but Mr. Elliston whose will be $10,000. As for the children, that’s a matter for family court, but I will give them my recommendation. Court dismissed.”
“They’ll be out in the hour,” muttered Ed as he packed up. “$5000?”
“I know,” I said, shocked. I didn’t expect bail that low. Clint owned three houses. He could easily put one up as collateral with a bail bondsman to post those amounts. “Judge Coburn must be going senile.”
As I packed up, Elisabet Reenburg headed over to the table and leaned in, “Could we talk, counselor?”
I nodded.
As she headed down the aisle, I went to follow. Ed grabbed my arm and said, “If she’s shopping for a plea deal, hear her out but stonewall. I want them desperate. I’m not going to give them something simple. They have to pay. I want prison time for at least Clint.”
“Okay,” I said and then broke away.
I followed Elisabet through the galley, the media calling out questions to the Ellistons. Elisabet smiled and said her client would make a statement after making bail. Then we were out of the galley and I led her to my office. It was here in the superior courthouse. Prosecutors worked out of this building. At least we didn’t have to go far, and with the number of cases we had on our docket, that was a good thing.
The moment the door was closed, Elisabet cupped my face and pushed me back against my desk. I gasped in shock at what she was doing. There was a wild look in her eyes. “Aren’t you a sexy thing?”
“Elisabet?” I gasped; my ass pressed into the edge of my desk. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Yes, yes, you’re just ripe. My son is going to love you.”
“Love me?” I asked, confused.
“I’m bringing my son and daughter over to your house tonight. We’re strategizing how you’re going to help us.”
A flutter of panic washed through me.
“Now, now, we won’t have you do anything that will get you in trouble. No tanking the case. Just guiding it. Pointing your boss in the right direction. We don’t want you getting in trouble. We want you to be free, too. We want you to have that world where you can eat out that pretty daughter of yours whenever you want.”