“At this point, Nate,” Felicia says, “Billy has no rights. Rather, his rights don’t matter to the DA. Or to the public. No one is rushing to defend rich white jocks, not for rape. And certainly not if a victim is deemed ‘unresponsive.’”

Felicia is correct on this point. Billy’s profile has obviated any chance of an impartial or fair trial. To be clear: I’m defending my brother here, not defending rapists. I know that sexual violence is dehumanizing. It’s life-shattering. It causes victims to feel unsafe in their bodies, often for the rest of their lives. Still, this doesn’t make Diana Holly any less a liar. Or my brother any more culpable.

“What’s really unfair,” DeFiore adds, “is that the DA will gloss over the couple’s prior relationship. If Anderson is smart—and trust me, he is—he’ll zero in on choice details. Like, say, white, wealthy, Princeton, binge-drinking, violence, eyewitnesses, resisting arrest. He’ll use them to tell a familiar story. Then he’ll pound this story into the jurors’ minds, over and over, until they can recite it forwards, backwards, and sideways. Not that repetition is necessary. We all know the story anyway. And a prior relationship, especially one that’s loving and consensual, only confuses the narrative.”

“That’s where we come in,” Manzano says. “Our job—and by ‘our,’ I mean all of us—is to come up with a more compelling story, one where the relationship is central.”

Lawrence turns to Billy. “You’re quiet.”

“Of course, he’s quiet,” I say. “We’ve been talking about him like he’s not here.”

“Get used to that,” DeFiore tells Billy. “Soon, you’ll just be ‘the defendant.’”

“Then ‘the rapist,’” Nate adds. “Then the ‘inmate.’”

“Nate!” Lawrence and Eleanor snap. But Billy starts to laugh. Nate and I join in, and once we get going, we can’t stop. My laughter, loose and alive, unravels inside my chest like a long paper dragon.

“You’re an idiot, Nate,” I say, wiping my eyes.

“Nate the Great scores,” he mutters. “A triumph!” he adds, which sets us off again. Soon, we’re doubled over, but my bleating sounds border on sobs, and I have to reel myself back from the brink.

When we finally compose ourselves. Lawrence asks Billy if he wants to add anything.

Billy is nervous. “Ssssssince Friday—when I really was ‘the inmate’—it’s been hard not to think of myself in the third person. I k-k-k-keep hearing about a guy named Billy and his girlfriend Diana. I don’t know those people. What k-k-k-kind of man attacks a woman he loves? And if he didn’t attack her, why would she say he did?”

DeFiore waves him on. “Let’s play it out. Why did Diana accuse Billy? Felicia, Mitch, and I have lots of theories, but we don’t know her. You do.”