Chapter 325


    Chapter 325 Piece De Résistance


    E


    “Objection, Your Honor!”


    The courtroom was thick with tension, so palpable that it felt like a heavy nket draped over everyone


    present. The high ceilings held shadows of statues from times long past, the weight of justice and


    history pushing down. The golden chandeliers that hung from the ceilings almost seemed to be


    swaying slightly, their dull glow illuminating the wooden panels which lined the room, giving it an age-


    old grandeur.


    Mr. Westbrook, seasoned and reputed for his shark-like tactics in the courtroom, seemed momentarily


    caught off guard by my objection.


    He blinked, his gray eyebrows knitting together as he processed the implications of what was unfolding.


    As his gaze locked onto mine, I could see a storm swirling in those deep-set blue eyes.


    “Sustained,” the judge replied, shooting me a curt nod. I sat back down, feeling somewhat proud of


    myself. Across from me, in the witness stand, Logan gave me a grateful look.


    But we weren’t out of the water yet; Westbrook wasn’t used to not getting his way. Otherwyers were


    typically so terrified of him that they practically rolled over for him in court, but not me. If I learned


    anything from my parents, it was that just ‘lying down and taking it’ wasn’t in the Morgan blood.


    “Your Honor!” he protested, voice filled with indignation. “This is nothing but theatrics. Miss Morgan is


    trying to mislead this court with unfounded allegations.”


    Judge Milton, a stern-looking man with sharp features that matched his even sharper mind, raised a


    hand, signaling Westbrook to stop. “Don’t be ridiculous, Westbrook,” he growled. “It’s a simple objection


    to what was, quite frankly, an absurd question. Continue.”


    Shooting me an angry re over his shoulder, Westbrook huffed and continued. I watched as he slowly


    turned back to Logan, shuffling through his papers as he did so. I had caught him off guard, that was


    for sure. He didn’t expect the female rookiewyer to give him a run for his money in court, but it would


    take more than that to take him down.


    “Very well then,” Westbrook said, clearing his throat. “Now. Mr. Barrett… Is it true that your family has a


    history of violence and aggression? Is it possible that this is a problem that runs in your genes, and it is


    not something you can escape?”


    Holding back my smirk, I stood again.


    “Objection, Your Honor!”


    “Sustained.”


    Westbrook’s eyes narrowed at me, but he continued. “Mr. Barrett: do you, or have you ever, involved


    yourself in cold-blooded crime, just like your predecessors?”


    “Objection, Your Honor!”


    “Sustained,” the judge nodded.


    At this, Westbrook whipped around on me. “Miss Morgan, are you going to let me establish my case, or


    do you n on acting like a petnt child all day?”


    In response, the judge coughed in annoyance. “That’s enough. Miss Morgan, please step up to the


    podium.”


    “What?!” Westbrook growled. “I haven’t-”


    “Enough,” the judge interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’d like to hear the rookiewyer out,” he said,


    curiosity evident in his tone.


    I inhaled deeply, drawing strength from the surroundings. Standing there, I could almost feel the


    whispers of all the past cases this room had witnessed.


    I began, “Your Honor, respected jury, what we have before us isn’t just a case against my client, but


    against the very essence of justice.”


    I lifted the evidence pouch with the bullet casing, making sure it caught the light just right, making it


    gleam ominously.


    “This,” I said slowly, “is a bullet casing that was found on the scene of the crime. But you see, this bullet


    casing was never shown to us during discovery. Just yesterday, I had to go on a wild goose chase to


    track it down, only to discover that a police officer had been paid to keep it hidden. But why? Why hide


    evidence?”


    Westbrook was already trying to interrupt. “This is absurd! I’ve never seen that in my life. Who knows


    where she got that-”


    “Mr. Westbrook.” Judge Milton’s voice was calm but held an edge. “You will get your chance to speak.


    For now, you will remain silent. Be seated.”


    With a huff, Mr. Westbrook plopped back down in his chair. I could see his arms folded in my peripheral


    vision. He was clearly not expecting such bacsh for his actions, but I still had more to go.


    “Continue, Miss Morgan,” Judge Milton said with a nod.


    “Thank you, Your Honor.” Turning my attention to the jury, I continued. “This bullet does not match any


    firearm owned by Logan. I have here,” I opened a folder, spreading out the receipts, “detailed records


    of every weapon he ever purchased, and not once has he bought bullets of this kind. In fact, these


    particr bullets would not fit in any of the firearms that Mr. Barrett and his men possess.”


    I could hear soft murmurs of discussion among the jurors. Their interest was piqued. Westbrook looked


    desperate to speak, his fingers drumming an erratic rhythm on his desk. I pushed forward.


    “But this isn’t the most damning evidence,” I continued. “Your Honor, esteemed members of the jury, I


    have proof that a police officer was bribed to hide this evidence. And I have proof that it was Mr.


    Westbrook himself who paid the officer.”


    A ripple of shock coursed through the room. The whispers grew louder. Even the stern-faced bailiff


    seemed taken aback.


    “Proof!” Westbrook’s voice rang out, nowced with anxiety. “Where’s your proof, Miss Morgan?”


    Without breaking eye contact, I pulled out a tape recorder. Even unbeknownst to Logan, I had been


    recording the entire interaction with Officer Daniels the night before.


    “Ask, and you shall receive,” I said. The y button clicked, filling the room with the incriminating voice.


    “It was awyer. Westbrook, I believe his name was. He paid me to hide this bullet, and that Logan had


    to go down… no matter what. I swear, I don’t know anything else.”


    The courtroom was a cacophony of gasps and murmurs. Westbrook’s face drained of color, his


    confidence reced by disbelief. For a seasonedwyer of his reputation, this was uncharted territory.


    He finally managed to speak, his voice shaking. “Your Honor, this is a tant fabrication! A dirty trick to


    tarnish my impable reputation!”


    Judge Milton looked between us, clearly weighing the gravity of the situation. “Mr. Westbrook, you’ve


    had an untarnished record, but that doesn’t mean you are above reproach. Given the evidence


    presented, I am inclined to give Miss Morgan the benefit of the doubt.”


    Westbrook’s face was crimson now, a stark contrast to his silver mane. “Your Honor, I’ve dedicated my


    life to this profession! Decades of service, and this is what ites to?”


    “Perhaps you should have thought about that before resorting to bribery and maniption,” I said, my


    voice steady. Westbrook mmed his hand on the table, standing up abruptly. “I demand an immediate


    recess! This is… This is character assassination!”


    Judge Milton, his brows furrowing, considered for a moment and then nodded. “Very well. Court is


    adjourned for a thirty-minute recess.”


    As everyone began to filter out, Logan, still in a daze, turned to me. “E, that was…. unbelievable.


    How did you even-?”


    I held up a finger, signaling him to wait. “We’re not out of the woods yet. But we’ve got momentum


    now.”


    The sun streamed in through the tall windows, casting a warm golden glow on the courtroom. Shadows


    danced as leaves rustled in the wind outside. But within these walls, a storm was brewing. A battle of


    wits and wills. As I looked over at Westbrook, who was now in a heated discussion with his associates,


    I knew the real fight was just beginning.


    Material ? of N?velDrama.Org.


    And I was ready.