Tolbert raised a hand. "Enough. Let me see the document."
Elijah carried it to the bench, calm and steady. Tolbert adjusted his glasses and read it. No emotion appeared on his face, but something flickered behind his eyes. Lindholm slowly sat down.
From the third row, someone whispered, "That boy came with receipts."
Elijah was not finished. "I would like to call my next witness, Mr. Travis Dent."
A man in his mid-thirties stood in the back row. He had a goatee, work boots, and a faded mechanic's shirt. He raised one hand and walked toward the witness stand.
Tolbert looked surprised. "Was this witness disclosed?"
"No, sir, but he is relevant. I can explain."
Tolbert sighed. "Make it quick."
Elijah turned toward the witness. "Please tell the court your relationship to Officer Haskins."
Travis shifted and glanced at the officer. "He is my cousin."
"Did he speak with you on the night Isaiah Carrington was arrested?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"Objection," Lindholm said, rising. "Hearsay."
"It goes to motive, Your Honor," Elijah argued. "Please allow him to finish."
Tolbert motioned forward. "I will allow it for now."
Travis cleared his throat. "He said he had finally gotten him. He said he was tired of seeing those Carrington boys walking around like they owned the place. He said Isaiah thought he was clever with the system, but was not smart enough to beat a uniform."
Gasps broke across the room, sharp and audible. Tolbert's expression darkened, while Lindholm began writing rapidly in her notes.
Elijah moved closer to the stand. His voice was quieter now. "Did he say anything about setting Isaiah up?"
Travis swallowed. "He said, 'One anonymous call is all it takes in this town. Who are they going to believe, me or some kid with a smart mouth?'"
Isaiah slowly closed his eyes. The courtroom went still.
Elijah turned back to the judge. "Your Honor, I believe this demonstrates not only a pattern of misconduct, but also a personal bias that directly affected the arrest and the investigation."
Tolbert leaned back. His face suggested he wanted to argue, but the words did not come.
Elijah continued. "If we are calling this justice, then we need to stop pretending it begins with a uniform. It should begin with the truth. My brother is not perfect, but he did not do what he is accused of doing, and everything presented today proves that."
Tolbert looked at Lindholm. "Do you have a rebuttal?"
She hesitated. "I will need time to verify these new statements and documents."
Elijah was ready. "You may take time, but every day he spends in that cell is a day stolen from someone who has not had a fair chance to be heard."
Judge Tolbert did not answer immediately. He looked at Elijah for a long time, as though looking through him and perhaps, for the first time, seeing him clearly.
The hearing was far from over, and Elijah still had one move left.
Judge Tolbert called for a ten-minute recess, but almost no one left. Some people stepped into the hallway, but their attention remained fixed on the courtroom as though gravity held them there. Even the janitor, who usually cleaned the benches around lunchtime, leaned on his broom and stayed near the door.
Elijah sat alone at the defense table, calmly sorting papers. There was no attorney hovering nearby and no legal team whispering in his ear, only a seventeen-year-old boy, a stack of folders, and a tired briefcase with a broken latch.
Across the room, Lindholm leaned toward Officer Haskins and whispered sharply. Haskins did not look up. He stared straight ahead like someone who had been caught playing with matches and had burned more than he intended.