With a tired sigh, the judge relented, signaling for the clerk to resume recording. Harold couldn't help but smirk from his spot at the back. That was Jerica, always getting what she wanted without bending an inch. The prosecutor gave her a half-hearted apology, but Jerica's expression made it clear she wasn't appeased.
She'd won a minor victory, and for the first time that day, she allowed herself a brief smile. They wanted something from her, and now she knew she held the cards. But what did they really want?
Shrier quickly resumed his line of questioning, praising her diligence in maintaining the records room. Jerica let him talk, her face impassive. Let him butter her up—it wouldn't change her stance. Finally, he shifted his tone, asking, "What is your work relationship with Mr. Petrovski like?"
Jerica blinked, nonplussed. "We don't have much interaction. There's rarely a need."
