Even to the naked eye, the pressure points were wrong. Darius wrote with a heavy hand, the ink bleeding through. The forged signature was light, floating, written by someone trying too hard to be careful.
“And the money,” Hope continued, her voice gaining strength as she saw the judge paying attention. “Mr. Reynolds said the money went to an account my dad made. But I looked up the numbers.”
The bank account that received the stolen funds was registered to an LLC called Phoenix Auto.
“My dad doesn’t own a phoenix,” Hope said simply. “But Mr. Harlow’s nephew does.”
At the prosecution table, Martin Harlow shifted in his seat. He whispered something to Reynolds. Reynolds looked pale. He hadn’t checked the LLC. He had just assumed the police work was solid.
“And the last page,” Hope said. “This was the hardest one. Ms. Patel said it was… sealed. But she said if you ask the right way, sometimes people make mistakes.”
Callaghan turned to the final document.
It was a photocopy of an indictment from a neighboring county, dated four years ago. The defendant: Martin Harlow. The charge: Insurance Fraud. The case had been settled out of court and the records sealed.
But here it was. In a seven-year-old’s plastic folder.
Callaghan looked up. His eyes, usually dead and flat, were burning with a sudden, intense fire.
Reynolds stood up, smoothing his tie, sweat visible on his forehead. “Yes, Your Honor?”
“Are you aware of the document on the last page of this folder?”
“I… I am not privy to the contents of that folder, Your Honor.”
“It is a record of a prior investigation,” Callaghan said. “Into your star witness. For the exact same crime your defendant is accused of today.”
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