บททั้งหมดของ Heartbreak And Wars: บทที่ 121 - บทที่ 130

JORDAN POVI arrived at the courthouse early, securing a seat in the front row of the gallery. Blake's parents arrived late last night. I met them briefly at the hotel.His mother's eyes were red from crying, his father's jaw tight with barely controlled rage at a system putting their son through this.They sit beside me now, both looking exhausted and terrified. I want to offer reassurance, but what can I say? This could go either way.Blake enters with Thompson, looking more composed than I'd expect. He's wearing the suit we picked out, his hair neatly combed, expression carefully neutral.He glances at the gallery, catches my eye, and I nod encouragement.Judge Martinez takes the bench, and the trial officially begins."The prosecution may give their opening statement," she says.Hartwick rises, moving to stand before the jury with practiced confidence. She's done this hundreds of times, knows exactly how to command attention, build narrative, create doubt."Ladies and gentlemen of

JORDAN POVDay three of trial marks the shift from prosecution to defense. Hartwick rested her case yesterday afternoon, after five witnesses painted Blake as the obvious culprit.Now it's Thompson's turn to present the alternative that Blake was framed by David Brennan.The courtroom is packed. News of the case has spread, and public interest is high. Blake's interview sparked debates about wrongful prosecution, and people want to see how it plays out.I'm in my usual spot, front row gallery. Blake's parents are beside me, holding hands so tightly their knuckles have gone white.Blake sits at the defense table looking exhausted but determined. He barely slept last night, according to the texts he sent at three AM."The defense calls Sarah," Thompson announces.Sarah takes the stand looking nervous. She's wearing a conservative dress, her hair pulled back, every inch the credible witness. Thompson has prepared her well."Ms. Chen, how long did you work at the Riverside Community Foun

BLAKE POVThe final day of trial arrives too quickly. I barely slept, running through every moment of my testimony, obsessing over answers I should have given differently, questions I should have anticipated better.Now I sit at the defense table, palms sweating, watching Hartwick prepare to deliver her closing argument.She rises with the confidence of someone who's done this hundreds of times, who knows exactly how to sway a jury, how to make doubt dissolve into certainty."Ladies and gentlemen," she begins, "over the past four days, you've heard a lot of complicated testimony.Technical experts, digital access logs, theories about alternative suspects. But at its core, this case is simple. Someone stole two hundred fifteen thousand dollars from a nonprofit organization.The evidence shows that someone was Blake Morrison."She walks along the jury box, making eye contact with each juror. "Mr. Morrison had access to the funds.His signature appears on the authorization forms. His cre

Blake's POVThe ankle monitor became my constant companion, a reminder that I was prisoner in my own city. Every morning started the same: wake up, shower carefully to avoid getting the device wet, dress around the bulky monitor strapped above my ankle, try to pretend I was living normal life.James noticed, of course. Four-year-olds notice everything."Daddy, why do you have special bracelet?" he asked during breakfast, pointing at the monitor visible below my jeans.Aloe and I had discussed how to explain this. Truth, but age-appropriate truth."Remember how sometimes people have to follow special rules? Like how you have bedtime rules?" I pulled him onto my lap. "Daddy has to wear this special bracelet so people know I'm following my rules. It's temporary—just until some grown-up stuff gets figured out.""Can I have one too?""Trust me, buddy, you don't want one."After breakfast, I did my daily check-in with pretrial services. The officer's voice was bored, routine: "Mr. Matthew,

Wakes's POVMontreal in October was cold and grey, matching my mood as my car pulled up to the address my investigator had provided. Heron Lewis lived in renovated warehouse building in Old Port, expensive enough to suggest she'd been well compensated for her role in Morrison's revenge scheme.My investigator, Marcus Chen—no relation to the prosecutor—sat in the driver's seat reviewing final details. "She thinks you're David Walsh, security consultant looking to hire intelligence operative for corporate background checks. She's expecting business meeting, not confrontation.""How long before she realizes who I actually am?""Depends how good her facial recognition memory is. You've been in the news, but you're not exactly celebrity." Marcus handed me folder. "Everything you need is here—Morrison's payments to her, evidence of her role in planting the documents, connections to his network. Use it strategically."I took the elevator to the fourth floor, my heart pounding in way it hadn'