“Joel will be acquitted, right?” Francine chased after the public defender assigned to her son’s case. She slipped into the elevator just as the doors shut.
“That’s unlikely, he had possession of the stolen money.” PD Guzman pushed the button for the 8th floor court room.
“That money could’ve come from anywhere,” Francine’s voice rose. She stepped forward, wagging an indignant finger in the attorney’s face.
“A bank guard was shot,” Guzman said, backing away from the agitated woman. “Joel confessed to the robbery.”
“It wasn’t Joel’s fault,” Francine whined. “He was just bored. He’s only a kid acting out.”