“Lock the doors.”
Part 4
The heavy courtroom doors closed with two metallic clicks.
My mother screamed.
“They’re arresting Cassidy,” Patricia cried, grabbing my father’s sleeve. “Richard, I told you she was dangerous.”
No one answered her.
Because no one was looking at me.
Every eye in the room was on Jamal.
Judge Whitman stood behind the bench, robe falling around him like black thunder.
“Mr. Price,” he said, “remain seated. If you attempt to leave that witness box, you will be restrained.”
Jamal went pale.
Caldwell stepped back from the plaintiff table as if proximity itself could infect him.
“Your Honor,” Caldwell said quickly, “I must state for the record that I had no knowledge of any forged documentation. My clients represented these records as authentic.”
My father turned on him. “You said this would work.”
Caldwell looked horrified.
The judge’s eyes sharpened. “Mr. Vale, did you just say counsel told you this would work?”
