My voice, amplified and unnervingly calm, hung in the charged air. Liam stared at me, his face a canvas of disbelief turning to raw terror. He had built his entire defense on a foundation of lies, and I was about to prove that my memory was backed by irrefutable, time-stamped data.
Without another word, I turned back to the podium. From my blazer pocket, I produced a small, sleek U-drive and inserted it into the laptop port. The audience held its breath, a single, collective entity poised on the brink of revelation.
A few clicks, and the main screen behind me flickered to life again. The horrifying images of necrotic tissue vanished, replaced by a crisp, professional document.
“This,” I announced, my voice cutting through the silence, “is the official project handover protocol, which I
