Chapter201 Be released

Chapter201 Be released
Aliya POV

"Aliya Rowanwood, you have a visitor," the officer called out, his voice echoing through the sterile hallway.

I looked up from where I'd been sitting quietly in the holding area. A visitor? I wasn't expecting anyone, especially not this soon.

The officer led me down a corridor to a small meeting room. When the door opened, I was shocked to see Patrick sitting at the metal table. He looked terrible. His face was gaunt, his skin had a grayish pallor, and he seemed to have lost at least twenty pounds since I'd last seen him.

"Patrick?" I said, hurrying over to the chair across from him. "What are you doing here?"

He looked up at me with tired eyes, but his expression was filled with concern. "Aliya, are you okay? How are they treating you in here? Have they been rough with you at all?"

I shook my head, sitting down. "I'm fine. They don't dare treat me badly, considering who's backing me."

"You've lost weight," I observed, studying his hollow cheeks.

"I'm fine," Patrick said dismissively, waving off my concern. "Don't worry about me."

"Why are you here instead of my lawyer?" I asked. "Shouldn't legal counsel be the first priority right now?"

Patrick leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "I'm here instead of the lawyer for now. The monitoring equipment in this room has been turned off, so we can speak freely."

I raised an eyebrow. "They turned off the surveillance? How did you manage that?"

"Let's just say Nikolai has some influence," Patrick said with a weak smile. "Look, here's the situation. Nikolai has people working on the Stonecreeks, trying to convince them to drop the charges. But if that doesn't work, you're probably going to have to go through a trial."

My stomach clenched, but I kept my expression neutral. "Okay. What kind of evidence do they think they have?"

"That's the thing," Patrick said, his voice becoming more confident. "They don't have much. Marcus's body was disposed of completely back then. Not a single bone left behind. They have no direct physical evidence linking you to any crime."

"So what are they basing their case on?"

"Circumstantial evidence, probably. Testimony from people who might have seen you with Marcus, financial records, that sort of thing. But nothing concrete."

"I'm not worried about the legal case," I said honestly. "I'm more concerned about what this does to my reputation. The public is going to have a field day with this."

Patrick was quiet for a moment, then looked at me directly. "You know, there's always the option of not marrying Nikolai. That would solve the public relations problem."

I looked at Patrick and gave him a small, knowing smile. I didn't respond to his suggestion.

Patrick studied my expression and nodded slowly. "I see. You've made your choice."

"I have," I said simply.

"Then I'll do whatever it takes to clear your name," he said firmly. "No matter what the cost."

I felt a wave of gratitude toward him, especially knowing how sick he was. "Patrick, you're not well. You shouldn't be putting yourself through this stress for my sake."

"It's nothing," he said, brushing off my concern again. "You don't need to worry about me."

"I do worry about you," I said softly. "You're one of the few people I trust completely."

Patrick's expression softened. "And you're worth fighting for, Aliya. You always have been."

"I should go," Patrick said, starting to stand up. "Your lawyer will want to talk to you without any outside interference."

"Are you going back to the hospital?" I asked.

"Eventually," he said with a weak smile.

"Patrick, please don't push yourself too hard. I need you healthy."

"I'll be fine," he said, though we both knew he was far from fine.

After Patrick left, I was escorted back to the holding area to wait. About an hour later, the officer came to get me again.

"Your attorney is here," he announced.

I was led to a different room, where a well-dressed man in his fifties was waiting with a briefcase and several files spread out on the table.

"Ms. Rowanwood," he said, standing to shake my hand. "I'm David Richardson. I'll be representing you in this matter."

"Nice to meet you," I said, taking a seat across from him.

"I've reviewed the preliminary charges, and I have to say, the prosecution's case looks fairly weak," he began. "They're relying heavily on circumstantial evidence and witness testimony that's several years old."

"That's what Patrick told me."

"Patrick Williams? Yes, I understand he visited you earlier. He's been very helpful in providing background information about the case."

Richardson opened one of his files. "Now, I have some good news. Bail has been posted, and you should be released within the next few hours. However, there is a catch."

"What kind of catch?"

"You'll need to appear in court for a preliminary hearing. It's mostly a formality, but the judge will want to hear the charges read and your plea entered into the record."

"When?"

"This afternoon, actually."

"Don't worry," Richardson said confidently. "This is just the beginning of the process. We'll have plenty of time to build our defense."

"What should I expect at the hearing?"

"It'll be brief. The charges will be read, you'll enter a plea of not guilty, and we'll discuss bail conditions and trial scheduling. The whole thing shouldn't take more than thirty minutes."

"Will there be media there?"

"Almost certainly," Richardson said. "This case has already attracted quite a bit of attention. Are you prepared for that?"

I thought about facing cameras and reporters, all of them eager to paint me as a murderer. "As ready as I can be."

"Good. Remember, don't make any statements to the press. Refer all questions to me."

We spent the next hour going over the details of the case and discussing potential defense strategies. Richardson seemed competent and experienced, which was reassuring.

Finally, the paperwork was processed and I was released on bail. Richardson escorted me through the back exit of the building to avoid the crowd of reporters gathered at the front entrance.

"The hearing is in two hours," he reminded me as we got into his car. "Do you need time to change clothes or prepare?"

"I'm fine as I am," I said. I wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

The courthouse was a imposing brick building downtown, with marble steps leading up to heavy wooden doors. Even using the side entrance, I could see news vans parked along the street.

"Remember," Richardson said as we walked through the hallways, "this is just a formality. Stay calm, speak clearly when asked to enter your plea, and don't react to anything the prosecution says."

"I understand."

We entered the courtroom through a door near the front. The room was smaller than I'd expected, with wooden benches for spectators and a raised platform where the judge would sit.

As soon as I walked in, I immediately spotted Nikolai sitting in the jury box area. Our eyes met across the room.