On a crisp Tuesday morning, I found myself in the sterile confines of the Jefferson County Traffic Court. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a cold glow on the tired faces around me. I clutched a folder of documents, my fingers tracing the edges nervously. An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach as I waited for my name to be called.
The clerk, a woman in her late fifties with weary eyes, called me to the window. Her voice was devoid of warmth as she slid a stack of papers through the narrow opening. « Sign here and here, » she instructed, her eyes already moving to the next person in line.
I hesitated, glancing down at the documents. They were filled with dense legal text that felt more like a foreign language than English. I scanned for any familiar terms, my heart racing as I tried to make sense of it all.
« Is everything alright? » the clerk asked, a hint of impatience in her tone.
« Um, yeah, just… trying to understand, » I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.
She nodded, clearly disinterested, before turning her attention back to her computer screen.
My attorney, Mr. Hargrove, a man in his early forties with a perpetual five o’clock shadow, assured me this was a straightforward case. « Just a minor speeding ticket. You’ll be in and out, » he had said with a dismissive wave of his hand during our brief meeting.
But as I flipped through the pages, my eyes caught a line that made my heart skip a beat: « Community Service for 60 hours. »
I felt the blood drain from my face. How had this not come up before? I glanced at Mr. Hargrove, who was busy typing on his phone, oblivious to my growing panic.
« Mr. Hargrove, can I speak with you for a moment? » I called out, trying to keep my voice steady.
He looked up, his expression unreadable. « Sure, what’s up? » he replied, slipping his phone into his pocket.
« This, » I said, pointing to the line about community service. « Why wasn’t I told about this? »
Mr. Hargrove’s eyes shifted, a rehearsed smile playing on his lips. « Oh, that’s just standard procedure if the fine isn’t paid in full immediately. Don’t worry, we can sort it out, » he said, his tone casual.
But I wasn’t convinced. Something felt off, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this story than I was being told.
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