The room seemed to breathe in all at once.
“Specifically,” Evelyn said, “the subnet assigned to Mr. Price’s department.”
Brittany stood. “Jamal?”
“Sit down,” Judge Whitman snapped.
She sat.
Evelyn did not stop.
“Mr. Price, did you enter Cassidy’s home office during a family dinner six months ago?”
“No.”
“Did you photograph mail from her desk?”
“No.”
“Did you use her dormant account information to create a shell company in her name?”
“No.”
“Did you use that shell company to generate fake debt so her parents could petition this court to declare her incompetent and take her condo?”
“No.”
Each no sounded smaller than the last.
Evelyn placed both hands on the witness stand rail.
“Then explain why Apex Holdings was created from your office terminal using my client’s stolen information.”
Jamal looked at Caldwell.
Caldwell looked at the table.
That was when Jamal understood the first law of rich people’s lawyers.
They protect whoever still has a future.
He licked his lips. “I invoke my Fifth Amendment right.”
The courtroom erupted.
My mother gasped.
My father half-stood.
Brittany burst into tears.
Judge Whitman slammed the gavel so hard everyone jumped.
“Order.”
Silence fell.
Evelyn stepped back.
“Your Honor,” she said, “we are not finished.”
She returned to the defense table and removed a second folder.
This one was black.
Thick.
Sealed with red tape.
Stamped with federal markings.
The sight of it made Jamal’s face go gray.
Evelyn handed it to the bailiff.
“The defense submits Exhibit B. Certified records provided under seal from the Securities and Exchange Commission and the Federal Reserve Board.”
Caldwell shot to his feet. “Objection. We have had no discovery. This is an ambush.”
Evelyn turned slowly.
“Opposing counsel filed an emergency petition this morning seeking immediate seizure of my client’s assets without notice. They asked the court to rule today. They opened the door to immediate responsive evidence.”
Judge Whitman glared at Caldwell. “You cannot demand emergency relief and then complain when the response is urgent. Objection overruled.”
The bailiff handed the folder to the judge.
Everyone watched him break the seal.
The sound was small.
Paper tearing.
A quiet rip.
But my mother flinched as if someone had fired a gun.
Judge Whitman read the first page.
Then the second.
Then he stopped.
He looked at me.
For the first time all morning, he did not look at me like a possible victim.
