Marcus Vance, Grant’s lead attorney, shot to his feet, knocking his chair back with a loud screech. His face was a mask of calculated outrage, but his eyes betrayed a frantic calculation. He had not prepared for a ghost.
“Objection, Your Honor!” Vance’s voice boomed, his finger pointing directly at me like a weapon. “The defense moves for an immediate recess! This witness is a known exile, a disgraced former athlete with a documented history of severe mental instability and treasonous allegations! Her presence here is an ambush and a mockery of this court!”
The judge banged his gavel, the sharp crack cutting through the rising uproar. I felt a cold prickle at the base of my neck. Grant wasn’t just going to sit there and lose. The Moores didn’t know how to lose.
Vance locked eyes with me, his lips curling into a predatory sneer. He was going to try and bury me all over again, and this time, he was going to do it in front of the world.
