Julian’s attorney, a high-priced shark named Mr. Sterling, immediately stood up. "Objection, Your Honor. This is highly irregular. We have not had the opportunity to review this so-called evidence during discovery. A child cannot simply introduce electronic media into a custody hearing without prior vetting."
"Overruled, Mr. Sterling," the judge stated flatly. "In family court, when a child expresses a desire to share something regarding her welfare, I listen. We will view the contents in chambers if necessary, but we will view them."
The bailiff took the iPad from Maya’s shaking hands and handed it up to the bench. Maya was guided to a small chair beside the witness stand, her eyes wide but determined. Judge Thorne tapped the screen. The courtroom was so utterly silent that I could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning vents above us.
Then, the audio from the video began to play, piped through the judge's microphone so it echoed off the mahogany walls.
It was Julian's voice. But it wasn't the polished, charismatic tone he used in public. It was the cold, venomous hiss he reserved for closed doors.