He returned her smile. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's just that when you are as young as I was, wrongfully accused but sent to prison anyway, you have to adopt a…how should I say this…a tough persona in order to deal with the sort of men who truly belong in a place like that and would do you unspeakable harm. I've been under a lot of stress lately, and I'm so sorry if I reverted to prison mentality."

Hmmm, Fitz thought. Articulate and well spoken. I guess our researcher was right about him having been his high school class valedictorian. Fitz smiled and tried to let her eyes suggest what her mind was thinking. "That's quite all right, Jayshon," she said. "Understandable, considering all you've been through. It's amazing that you've done as well as you have and come out so…strong and…I don't know…almost noble the way you handle yourself."

He'd gone to prison a skinny, six-foot-three nineteen-year-old, hit the weights, and come out ten years later at 250 pounds of muscle. He gave the television host his most winning smile.

Fitz began daydreaming about a reinvigorated career. She'd worked out an exclusive deal with Louis and had already arranged to have her interview aired on the national affiliate. The station's managers were also trying to get her on Larry King Live.

The director called for everyone to take their places. Fitz turned to the camera and put on her best "this is an important story" face. In the chair next to her, Louis wiped one last time at his brow and practiced his righteous scowl. Sykes practiced being contemplative, thoughtful-the aggrieved young black man, set upon by a racist police department and district attorney's office, perhaps because he was too smart, too articulate, and they'd wanted to slap him down. How'd the bitch put it? Oh, yeah, noble.