Entelechy: The Perfect Lawyer

The courtroom was packed, the air thick with tension. Uriel Zander sat leaning onto his elbows, fingers interlocked, staring forward. At barely-thirty years old, he was the youngest and, arguably, the most ambitious criminal defense attorney at the New York State Public Defender's Office to date. He had come across his fair share of high-profile cases, but nothing like this. Today, he was defending Anton Greyson, a person accused of first-degree murder—a case nobody had thought could be won.

Video footage, witnesses, a damning testimony from Greyson's former associate—they even had fingerprints on the weapon—all were in possession of the prosecution. It was an open-and-shut case. In the opinion of the state, Greyson was guilty the second he was arrested. But Uriel just didn't see it that way. He never did."Mr. Zander," Judge Alvarez called from the bench, her voice booming through the cavernous room. "Are you prepared for your opening statement?" Uriel rose to his feet, buttoning his suit jacket with a smooth calculated motion; he adjusted his tie, then took a moment to meet the eyes of each juror, carefully assessing the way they shifted in their seats. He had chosen them well during voir dire, and he hoped this would be the difference."I'm ready, Your Honor," he said, his voice serene, almost casual. He strolled unhurriedly toward the jury box, where his footsteps were loud in that room, each step taken with deliberation. He had always believed the first impression of a defense attorney was everything. To persuade a jury, you had to ­convince them of two things—trust you and doubt everything."Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Uriel began, clasping his hands behind his back. "You will hear many things today—facts, figures, testimonies, evidence that all seemingly tell one story. But before anything is done, I need you to remember one thing: stories have more than one side." He stopped and let his words sink deep inside them, scanning their faces again."You've already heard from the prosecution that my client, Mr. Greyson, committed a terrible crime. But what if I told you there's another explanation? What if I told you that this evidence you've seen isn't as airtight as it seems? What if I told you this impossible-to-win case was built upon nothing but quicksand?"The jury shifted in their seats, and Uriel could feel their curiosity sparking. That would do for now. "That's all I ask. Keep an open mind." He nodded once, with assurance, before turning back to his seat. The first day of trial was brutal. The prosecution had come prepared, just as Uriel expected. District Attorney Marcia Graves was a seasoned prosecutor, known for being methodical, ruthless, and relentless. She spent the entire morning tearing through her witnesses."Ms. Turner," she started, turning to the lead detective who had apprehended Greyson, "can you take the court through that moment when you apprehended the defendant?" Detective Turner squared her shoulders and began to speak clearly. "We got an anonymous tip. We responded to a call at Mr. Greyson's apartment and caught him in the act of attempting to destroy evidence. He had blood on his clothes, and we located the weapon used in the crime under his kitchen sink."Uriel scribbled something on his legal pad, but if his face had changed expression it would have been an improvement. Same story, different mouthpiece—he'd already heard this during discovery. Obviously, this made the jury uncomfortable; the man's testimony was clear and damning."Detective Turner," Graves continued, "what about the DNA evidence? Was it conclusive?""Yes," Turner said, looking over at the jury. "The defendant's fingerprints were on the weapon, and the victim's blood was found on his clothes. The lab results were a match." Uriel waited. He knew when to strike, and this wasn't the moment. But the time was coming.By the time the court adjourned to lunch, it was all one could do not to choke on the thickness of the air. Even Uriel's co-counsel Karen Foster seemed ill at ease as they sat together in the small defense room."This isn't looking good," Karen muttered, flipping through the witness statements. "The jury's going to eat this up.""They always do," Uriel replied, a faint smile playing on his lips. "At least at the outset.""At the outset?" She raised an eyebrow. "You're still feeling sanguine?"Uriel leaned back in his chair. "Marcia Graves is good, but she's playing by the book. She's expecting me to fight the evidence head-on. But we're not going to do that. We're going to attack the one thing she hasn't considered."Karen frowned. "And that is?""The motive."Karen's eyes widened slightly. "You're going to argue self-defense?""No," Uriel said, tapping his pen on the table. "That's too obvious. We're going to attack the credibility of the state's witnesses, beginning with their star—the anonymous tipster."The next morning, for the first time, the defense was ready to put on its case. All along, it was a gamble, but at least he had prepared meticulously for this day. He strode to the witness stand with the same manner of confidence that he showed at the opening statement."Detective Turner," Uriel began, holding a page of the police report. "You said there was an anonymous tip about the arrest of Mr. Greyson. Is that correct?""Yes," she responded."And you never knew who this person was?""No," Turner said, looking over at Graves. Uriel paced slowly. "Yet you based an entire investigation, including the arrest, on a tip from someone whose identity you can't confirm?"Turner hesitated. "Yes, but we corroborated the tip with physical evidence."Uriel nodded, as if he agreed. "Of course. But let me ask you this—did you check the credibility of this tip before rushing into my client's home?"Turner said nothing. Uriel didn't wait for an answer. "Let's talk about the evidence for a second," he said. "The murder weapon—any other DNA on it besides my client's?"Turner shifted uncomfortably. "No.""And yet, there were several fingerprints on the weapon that didn't match his, isn't that right?""Yes."Uriel let his gaze drift to the jury, letting a moment pass. "Does that sound like conclusive evidence to you, ladies and gentlemen?"Graves objected; Judge Alvarez told the jury to strike the comment from their minds, but Uriel had already set the seed. Later that week, Uriel called an expert witness in—doctor Felicity Harper, a forensic analyst who had found crucial inconsistencies in the DNA report. Witnesses for the defense included Dr. Harper, whose testimony demonstrated a break in the chain of custody of the evidence and, more importantly, reasonable doubt that the weapon had been tampered with before it arrived at the lab.By the time closing arguments arrived, Uriel's approach of calm confidence had worked its magic: the jury that once firmly appeared to lean toward conviction now looked conflicted."Ladies and gentlemen," Uriel said, his voice steady, "the case at first viewed appeared impossible. The evidence in its face value did appear overwhelming. However, we have shown that things are not quite as they seem. The prosecution was able to construct a case upon assumptions—undo assumptions that my client was guilty. Yet in this country, we do not find by assumptions. We find by the facts. And the facts, ladies and gentlemen, do not support a verdict of guilt." He stopped, looking once more to the jury. "I ask you to see the reasonable doubt that exists and to do what justice demands. Find my client not guilty."The jury deliberated for hours, and when finally the verdict came in, the room was electric. "On the charge of first-degree murder, we find the defendant, Anton Greyson... not guilty." Uriel leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He had done it. Another impossible win.