The Charm Bracelet Case

I strutted up the endless carpeted walkway. Today would be the day, I just knew it. What could go wrong? My train of thought abruptly broke off when I saw the doors looming ahead of me. Mahogany, with brass door knobs. I fidgeted with the charm bracelet on my wrist. Which one? If I were to pick the wrong one, there would be dire consequences for my case. Left...right...left...right...which one would save me millions of dollars? Which would force me into the stormy ocean of bankruptcy? 

“Can I help you, Miss?” chirped a secretary passing by behind me.

“Left or right?” I stared him down, with a gaze that could shatter steel.

“Excuse me?”

“Left. Or. Right.”

“Oh...left, I suppose.” he glanced at me quizzically, then went back to delivering paperwork. 

Left. Left. Left. My mind chanted with certainty, attempting to hide the indecisiveness lurking beneath. It was an other-worldly experience. I saw myself slowly lifting my hand to the doorknob. Hesitating, hand still resting on the newly polished brass. Then I was thrusting the door open, a confidant expression plastered on my face, which evaporated the second I saw the man behind the desk.

“Hello. You must be Miss Sarah Parker, am I correct?” he said. On his desk was a nameplate, which read “Michael Palmer, JD”. He was tall, thin, and pale; with white hair and dark eyes that glinted as though he were calculating your every move.

“Y-yes, that is true.” I scolded myself to regain composure, then continued. “I need you to represent my case. I am charging Kenneth Oscar Rudo for stealing a family heirloom.”

“Ah, I see.” Mr. Palmer smirked. I feared the worst: I had chosen the wrong door. “Would you grant me a speedy run-down of your evidence?”

“Not long ago, I noticed a family heirloom had gone missing. A bracelet. I immediately called the police, and informed them it was missing. After days of searching, the bracelet was found. In my neighbor’s car. Kenneth Oscar Rudo’s car. What further evidence do you require?” I began fanning myself with my hand. It felt as though the temperature in the compact office had risen twenty degrees. The only sound in the room was the small tink tink of my charm bracelet on the hand I was using to fan myself. 

“What further evidence do I require?! Miss Parker, have you ever been to court?”

“No sir.”

Mr. Palmer sighed, “Why don’t you have a seat and tell me everything.”

***

“Thank you, Miss Parker. That...clears everything up.” 

I gulped. Now my suspicions were clawing their way up. “Mr. Palmer…?”

“Hmm?”

“I just--” No. If I was wrong about my speculations, then I would be giving myself away. It wasn’t worth the risk. “I just wanted to thank you for taking my case.”

“It’s my pleasure. Now you may leave, and return tomorrow when I have gathered the rest of the evidence.” 

Rest of the evidence? What more could he need? I told Mr. Palmer everything. Well, nearly everything.

***

I had never been to court before. In my mind’s eye, I had pictured a high ceiling, sweeping curtains, a raised platform for the judge, marble flooring, elegant tapestries, and chandeliers. I was deeply disappointed. Standing in the doorway, I saw a beat-up persain rug on the walkway between the seating for the audience, dusty wooden flooring, a handful of tables, flickering lights, white walls, and the judge's bench, which was most disheartening of all. Not only was it not raised, but it was small. And dusty. The whole room, in fact, had a dusty smell, with hints of mildew. Delightful. The nameplate on the judge’s bench read, “Judge Larry Dimeglio, JD''. 

The procedures of court are extremely dull, and I am ashamed to say that I was spaced out for a majority of the time. Until it was time for my lawyer, Mr. Palmer, to state our evidence. I hoped that I picked the right door. If I didn’t…

“Miss Sarah Parker is guilty.” stated Mr. Palmer. Every occupant of the room gasped.

I felt the blood drain from my face. “What. Are. You. Doing?!” I screamed through gritted teeth.

“I know, I know, it sounds extreme. But hear me out. Miss Sarah Parker stated that a ‘bracelet’ was stolen. Yet she didn’t provide the exact details of the bracelet. When I questioned the police, Miss Sarah Parker had informed them a charm bracelet was stolen. I found this funny, because she had been wearing a charm bracelet in my office. This could be pure coincidence. Of course, you all know that the stolen item would’ve had to be scanned for fingerprints and such. But it seems as though the stolen bracelet was never scanned. In fact, the bracelet wasn’t in the custody of the police for that long. This means that it is completely possible for the ‘two’ bracelets to be the same bracelet. That answers one question. But I wish to know whether or not Kenneth Oscar Rudo was framed.” More gasping. “Yes, yes, it seems far-fetched, and it makes no sense. But it is easy, too. Miss Sarah Parker brews up a scheme to make money. Framing is an obvious choice. But, whom should she frame? Perhaps the neighbor whom she has been holding a grudge against for years. It would be simple to call 911, stating that a family heirloom is ‘stolen’. For the entire phone call, the bracelet is actually resting on her wrist. After a few days, she would have to sneak the bracelet into Kenneth Oscar Rudo’s car, inform the police she glimpsed it laying on the leather seats, and sue him. 

“The tricky part is choosing the right lawyer. One who is just in it for the money, and won’t bother who is or isn’t guilty. I am not that type of lawyer. But the one in the office to the right of mine is.” I grumbled under my breath. Unfortunately, I had chosen the wrong door.

***

After the jury had ruled me guilty, I was sentenced to five years of jail. Why did I listen to the secretary? Why didn’t I choose right? I suppose I’ll never know.