Brenda sat on the metal bench in the holding cell, her orange jumpsuit scratchy against her skin, her hair unwashed for three days, and her makeup long gone; the woman who had once prided herself on her appearance, who had wielded her beauty and intelligence like weapons, now looked hollow and defeated. The cell smelled of disinfectant and despair, and Brenda had learned to breathe through her mouth to avoid the worst of it.

The guard's voice echoed down the corridor. "Chen, your attorney's ...