Kara closed the halves of her phone and walked with it over to her Italian walnut kitchen-table-cum-desk. Araceli had come through; a large banker’s box containing the cases Kara had requested now occupied pride of place atop a cart from the reference library. Araceli herself, however, seemed to have dropped off the radar.

Or… not.

Out of the corner of her eye as Kara crossed to her desk, she could her legal assistant’s willowy frame gliding down the hallway towards Kara’s office. This time, Araceli carried the nectar of the gods, strong French coffee from Framboise, the de facto Justice coffee/breakfast hangout a few blocks down. Araceli also looked full to bursting with whatever news/gossip vibrated in pinstriped waves from her body.

“Ohmygoshmisschristiansen…” The words flew from Araceli’s bow-shaped mouth.

“Araceli, my dear, slow down,” Kara replied, professionalism and 14 years of motherhood taking over. “Drink, then talk.”

Araceli nodded and took a long swig, her pulse returning to normal.