Chapter 8: The Prosecutor's Counter-Attack
Chapter 8: The Prosecutor's Counter-Attack
The morning of the press conference was pouring rain, much like the night of the attack. Dozens of reporters,
camera crews, and curious onlookers packed the marble steps of the municipal courthouse. Margaret's high-priced
PR team stood at the back, smugly waiting to see how a broken, working-class prosecutor would handle the heat.
I walked out of the heavy glass doors alone. I wasn't wearing a neck brace anymore. I wore a tailored black
suit, my hair pinned back tightly, revealing the slight, faint mark of the thermal burn near my collarbone. I didn't
look like a victim. I looked like the law itself.
I stepped up to the wall of microphones, the flashing lights blindingly intense. I didn't read from a prepared
script. I looked directly into the main lens of the national news pool broadcast.
"For the past forty-eight hours, the Devon family and their political allies have used their vast wealth to buy
headlines, attempting to convince you that a woman would willingly close her own throat and burn her own flesh to
frame an innocent man," I began, my voice clear, steady, and resonant.
The crowd fell dead silent, the only sound being the clicking of cameras.
"They want you to believe this is a private domestic dispute. But the evidence does not care about family
status, political titles, or old money." I pulled a remote clicker from my pocket and signaled the large digital media
screen behind me, usually reserved for city announcements.
"This is the live, unaltered footage from the smoke detector inside the Devon residence on the night of
October 14th," I announced.
The screen flashed to life. The high-definition video showed the living room with terrifying clarity. The entire
crowd gasped as Margaret’s voice boomed from the speakers: "Die quietly, trash, so my son can finally collect your
life insurance and marry a woman with breeding." The footage showed her pouring the scalding tea over my chest,
her fingers digging into my skin while Daniel stood by, checking his watch.
The reporters were frozen in horror. Several people in the crowd screamed. The PR team at the back instantly
scrambled to their phones, their faces filled with absolute panic.
"I have officially been appointed as a special assistant counsel for the State in this prosecution," I declared,
looking directly into the camera. "Margaret Devon, Daniel Devon, and their accomplice Victoria Sterling believed
May you like
their money made them invisible. But I am here to remind them that in a court of law, you are not royalty. You are
just the defendants. See you at trial."
