Cox

by the viral video and Jonathan' s relentless, behind-the-scenes media manipulation. I sat alone at the plaintiff's

d by his aunt Clotilde, my parents, and a few family friends. He leaned over

e's too grief-stricken to think clearly. I couldn't represent her, of

th concern, her worried eyes finding mine across the room. Jonathan caught

e but composed. Beside her sat a sharp, expensive-looking

d," she whispered, her voice carrying in the quiet room. "Why is o

e the law is the law, Susan. Everyone deserves a defense

eding car. My hands were steady on the table in front of me. The grief was s

voice boomed.

tired eyes. She sat, shuffled some papers,

er of the wrongful death claim filed by the estate of the deceased. Let the reco

n at the file

the victim of the hit-and-run incident that oc

throat and rea

Mr. Gordon Charles

nto the silent cou

ocuted. "What?" The word was a strangled cry of

nforgiving. "Sir, you are out of order! This is a courtroo

rs and forcing him back into his seat. He sank onto the bench, his face

ring at him, their faces a mixtu

He thought I had tricked him. He thought this was my grand,

ctory. It was his

"Mrs. Cox, as the representative of Mr. Charles'

d, my voice clear and steady. "I have no opening statement. I woul

gallery. His own lawyer, the man def

arge screen descended from the ceiling.

version from the internet. This

in his hand. He stopped at the crosswalk, waited patiently for the light to

t just speeding; it was weaving, drifting lazily from

ct was s

of the car, his head shattering the windshield. It showed him being dragged fo

urtroom. My mother was openly weeping

, silent tears streaming down his face. He was watching his father die. He was seeing, for t

n, after a moment' s hesitation, sped away, l

een wen