The officer shook his head.
"No."
"Did you have probable cause before opening the trunk?"
"We had reason to believe the stolen property was inside."
"That wasn't my question."
The judge raised an eyebrow.
Marcus continued.
"Did you have probable cause before opening the trunk?"
The officer hesitated.
"No."
A murmur moved through the courtroom.
Marcus looked down at his notebook.
Then he looked back up.
"Thank you."
He returned to the defense table.
Judge Whitmore frowned.
"Is that all?"
"For now."
Price laughed.
"Your Honor, this is ridiculous."
Marcus turned toward him.
"Perhaps."
Then he placed one document on the defense table.
"But if the court will allow me, I'd like to show why."
Judge Whitmore motioned toward him.
Marcus approached the bench and handed over the paper.
The judge read it.
His expression changed.
"What is this?"
"A copy of the department's evidence inventory."
"I know what it is. Why are you showing me this?"
Marcus pointed to a line.
"The laptop recovered from my sister's vehicle was logged at 11:18 p.m."
"So?"
Marcus pointed to another line.
"The arrest report says the vehicle was searched at 10:05 p.m."
The judge looked up.
Marcus continued.
"The evidence log says the laptop was photographed at 10:42 p.m."
Silence.
"That means," Marcus said carefully, "someone photographed an item before the police officially documented finding it."
The prosecutor stood.
"Your Honor—"
Marcus raised his eyes.
"I haven't even gotten to the important part."
Judge Whitmore looked at him.
"What is the important part?"
Marcus opened his briefcase.
He removed a small tablet.
Then he placed it on the table.
"I found the original security footage."
The courtroom went completely silent.
Marcus pressed play.
A video appeared.
A timestamp showed 9:57 p.m.
Nia's car was parked outside a gas station.
She was nowhere near the alleged crime scene.
Judge Whitmore leaned forward.
"Where did you get this?"
"The gas station."
"How?"
"I asked."
The judge stared at him.
Marcus continued.
"And there's more."
He played another clip.
This time the timestamp showed 10:12 p.m.
A police cruiser was already parked beside Nia's vehicle.
But the official arrest report said the traffic stop began at 10:21.
Judge Whitmore slowly removed his glasses.
Mr. Price stopped smiling.
Marcus closed the tablet.
"I don't know what happened that night," he said.
"But I know the official timeline cannot be true."
For the first time since Marcus entered the courtroom, nobody laughed.
The judge looked at the teenager standing before him.
The oversized suit no longer seemed funny.
The battered briefcase no longer looked childish.
And the boy's quiet voice no longer sounded like the voice of a frightened sixteen-year-old.
It sounded like someone who had spent months preparing for this exact moment.
Judge Whitmore looked at the prosecutor.
"Mr. Price?"
The prosecutor swallowed.
"Yes, Your Honor?"
"I think we're going to need to slow this hearing down."
Marcus returned to his seat.
Nia stared at him.
"Where did you learn all this?"
Marcus looked at his sister.
"Mom's old books."
Nia's eyes filled with tears.
Their mother had been gone for years.
But somehow, sitting in that courtroom, Marcus felt as though she was there.
Not beside him.
Not behind him.
But somewhere inside every question he asked.
The judge called for a recess.
As everyone stood, Marcus closed his briefcase.
He thought the hardest part was over.
He was wrong.
Because while the courtroom emptied, Daniel Price remained at his table.
And he was staring at Marcus with something far more serious than disbelief.
He was afraid.
Not of the boy.
Of what the boy might find next.
The courthouse cafeteria was nearly empty during the recess.
Marcus sat alone at a small table near the window.
His briefcase rested beside him.
He had spread documents across the table.
Police reports.
Evidence logs.
Property records.
Traffic-camera screenshots.
And a handwritten timeline.
He was comparing two timestamps when someone sat across from him.
Marcus looked up.
Judge Whitmore.
The judge had removed his robe.
Without it, he looked less imposing.
Almost human.
"You eat lunch?" he asked.
"Sometimes."
The judge stared.
"That's a strange answer."
Marcus shrugged.
"I forget."
"You're sixteen."
"I know."
"You should be worried about algebra."
"I am."
The judge almost smiled.
"You're an unusual kid."
Marcus closed the folder.
"Judge?"
"Yes?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"Did you believe my sister was guilty before the hearing started?"
Whitmore didn't answer immediately.
Finally he said, "I believed the prosecution had presented enough information to justify the hearing."
"That's not what I asked."
The judge studied him.
"No," he said eventually. "I didn't know."