Chapter 8 - THE COURTROOM SHOWDOWN
The courtroom was packed. The local press, smelling a high-society scandal, filled the back rows. My mother sat at the defense table in a designer suit, looking haughty. My father sat behind her, sweating profusely. Chloe wasn't even there; she had run off to Miami to escape the embarrassment of her canceled wedding.
The prosecutor, a ruthless woman named ADA Thompson, called me to the stand first.
I recounted the events of the party calmly. I didn't cry. I didn't yell. I spoke with the quiet authority of a mother who had almost lost her child.
Then, the defense attorney cross-examined me. "Mrs. Hayes, isn't it true you were hysterical? Isn't it true you slipped in your cheap shoes and hit the table, and your mother merely dropped the pitcher in shock?"
"No," I said.
ADA Thompson stood up. "Your Honor, the State would like to enter Exhibit C into evidence. A video recorded by a guest at the party."
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The video was played on the large screen. It was shaky, but the audio was crystal clear. “I’m taking my truck and leaving.” Then, the visual of my mother’s arm pulling back, the heavy crystal pitcher glinting in the fairy lights, and the brutal, sickening crack of glass against my skull.
A collective gasp echoed through the courtroom. My mother covered her face with her hands.
