Chapter 325 Piece De Résistance
Ella
“Objection, Your Honor!”
The courtroom was thick with tension, so palpable that it felt like a heavy blanket 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. Other lawyers 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 glare 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 rookie lawyer 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 plan on acting like a petulant 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 rookie lawyer 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 backlash 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 particular 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, now laced 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 play button clicked, filling the room with the incriminating voice.
“It was a lawyer. 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 replaced by disbelief. For a seasoned lawyer of his reputation, this was uncharted territory.
He finally managed to speak, his voice shaking. “Your Honor, this is a blatant fabrication! A dirty trick to tarnish my impeccable 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 it comes to?”
“Perhaps you should have thought about that before resorting to bribery and manipulation,” I said, my voice steady. Westbrook slammed 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. “Ella, 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.
And I was ready.
