The jury seems stunned by this assertion, but Shad Johnson looks positively apoplectic. The DA can already feel the foundation of his carefully constructed case shifting on sand, where he thought he’d built on bedrock, and Quentin hasn’t even called his first witness. Worse, because Quentin didn’t request discovery, Shad has no idea who Quentin’s witnesses might be.

“Given what I’ve told you,” Quentin says, “I find myself wondering why this case was brought before the bar at all. Don’t you? Why are we sitting here today, ladies and gentlemen? The answer has nothing to do with justice, I assure you. That shouldn’t surprise you. A Natchez judge whose picture hangs on that wall used to tell juries that the court system wasn’t about justice, but compromise. ‘Justice,’ he said, ‘is when everybody gets exactly what they deserve—and Lord knows none of us wants that.’”

As hesitant laughter echoes through the court, Quentin’s voice drops into the register of a man dealing with the gravest matters. “My friends, we are gathered here today because of the broken heart of a fatherless child.”

After looking at Lincoln with sympathy, Quentin shifts his gaze to Sheriff Byrd, who now sits against the wall with a couple of his deputies. “We are also gathered here because of the envy, hatred, and ambition of powerful men.” Then Quentin’s eyes fall on Shad Johnson. “Ultimately, we are here because of the base human desire for revenge at any cost.”

Even Judge Elder looks shocked by this statement, but if Quentin intends to prove that my father has been framed, he has the right to say these things.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he intones, “this may not be a capital trial, but make no mistake: a man’s life is at stake here. Tom Cage is seventy-three years old. His health status is grave. If he’s sentenced to spend even a year in jail, he’s unlikely to survive. So I humbly ask you to bear with me as I present my case. Your time is precious, and public service a dying virtue. But with the stakes so high, I implore you to persevere until the truth lies naked before us all. For only then can we say that we have done our duty, and that justice has been served.”

After a full visual survey of the jury, Quentin rolls back toward his table. But before he reaches it, he stops and looks over his shoulder as though troubled by some thorny moral dilemma.