“You're not going to like this," Lana said, dropping a flash drive onto Sierra's counter.
Sierra glanced up from the Phoenix trial files. “That's your version of 'good morning'?"
Lana crossed her arms. “I pulled parking garage footage from a WestTech facility dated three years ago—the night of the crash."
Sierra's hands paused mid-turn of a page. “What did you find?"
“Watch."
She loaded the footage. A valet supervisor's dashcam captured the blurred edge of Julian's black sedan pulling out. A second vehicle, unmarked and idling near the ramp, suddenly accelerated—ramming Julian's car from the side.
Sierra's breath caught.
“License plate?" she asked.
“Registered to a shell company. Owned by—guess who?"
Sierra's voice turned ice. “Everett Kane."
Lana nodded. “He had motive. He wante
