Molly
The courtroom stirs.
The footage plays.
There he is, stepping out of the elevator. Coat buttoned. Movements steady. He looks tired, yes. But not sick. Not poisoned. Not dying.
The timestamp flashes.
Nearly two hours after he left my house.
My lips curve before I can stop myself.
“This footage,” Charles says evenly, “shows Mr. Bennett leaving his son’s apartment minutes before the accident that resulted in his death.”
The screen switches again.
Exterior footage. My father getting into the car.
The Bennetts’ side erupts.
“That proves nothing,” Levy snaps, half rising.
“Enough,” the judge says sharply.
Charles does not miss a beat. “If Mr. Bennett had been poisoned at my client’s residence, as claimed, then Miss Bennett would have been the last person to see him. She was n
