Chapter 7 - THE PRELIMINARY WAR
Two weeks later.
The County Courthouse was packed to capacity. Media outlets had filled every bench in the gallery, their pen nibs scratching frantically against paper.
I sat at the prosecution table in a dark navy maternity dress, my baby bump noticeably larger now at thirty-four weeks. Beside me sat my father and Victoria Vance.
Across the room at the defense table sat Grant.
He no longer looked like the polished real estate mogul from business magazine covers. His hair was cropped short, his tailored suit replaced by a dark grey inmate jumpsuit, and his wrists were bound by heavy belly chains. But his eyes were still dark, cold, and arrogant.
Sitting beside him was Richard Sterling—the highest-paid criminal defense attorney in the state, hired by Eleanor Whitmore to save her son.
Judge Evelyn Ramos banged her gavel down, her voice booming through the acoustics of the courtroom. "This preliminary hearing is now in session. Case number 4092: State versus Grant Whitmore. Charges include Attempted First-Degree Murder, Aggravated Assault, and Poisoning."
Richard Sterling immediately stood up, adjusting his gold cufflinks.
"Your Honor," Sterling began in a booming, dramatic voice that commanded the room. "The defense moves for an immediate dismissal of all physical assault charges based on lack of credible testimony and severe mental competence issues regarding the alleged victim."
A gasp ran through the gallery.
Victoria Vance stood up instantly. "Objection, Your Honor! Defense is attempting to slander the victim without medical foundation!"
"I have foundation right here, Your Honor," Sterling sneered, holding up a thick stack of medical files. "We have obtained medical records showing Mrs. Whitmore suffered from documented gestational hypertension and elevated liver enzymes. Medical literature clearly shows these conditions cause severe auditory hallucinations, paranoia, and sudden falls!"
Grant looked back toward the gallery, a small, subtle smile playing on his lips. He thought his mother's money had found the magic loophole.
"Mrs. Whitmore’s claims that my client threw a heavy book at her are nothing more than the tragic delusions of a high-risk pregnancy!" Sterling shouted, pointing a finger toward me. "She tripped on a wet floor, struck her head, and her oxygen-starved brain constructed a villain out of her loving husband!"
I felt my heart race, but I forced myself to sit completely still, remembering my father’s words: Let them build their tower of lies high enough so that when it falls, it crushes them.
Judge Ramos looked down at Victoria Vance. "Does the State have evidence to refute the defense's medical claim?"
"We do not just have evidence, Your Honor," Victoria Vance said calmly, pulling a sleek silver thumb drive from her briefcase. "We have the gold standard of neurological science."
Victoria turned to face the bench.
"The prosecution calls Chief of Neurology at St. Catherine Medical Center—Dr. Daniel Mercer to the stand."
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Grant’s smile faltered slightly as my father stood up, adjusted his tie, and walked with unshakeable dignity toward the witness box.
The battle for the truth had officially begun.
