The courtroom was a coffin of whispers. Every bench packed, every pen ready. Reporters' eyes gleamed like knives. The judge adjusted her glasses, unimpressed, but even she couldn't quell the electricity.
Daniel's lawyer rose. "Your Honor, we introduce Exhibit G. An audio file provided by Ms. Bennett, an intern at Blackwell Capital."
My stomach plummeted.
Tara walked confidently to the stand, the small black recorder in her hand like a loaded gun. She glanced at me, her smile sugar and venom all at once.
"I only did this because Ella begged me," she said, voice trembling with feigned sorrow. "I couldn't keep silent."
The bailiff plugged the device into the system. Speakers hissed.
Then: my voice.
Thin, trembling. "Tara, please. You don't understand. I can't say no to him. If I breathe a word, I'll lose everything."
The room gasped. Hashtags were already being born in the minds of the reporters scribbling: #EllaBegged, #ForbiddenTape.
Tears burned my eyes. "That's not me," I whispered, but it drowned under the roar.
Adrian didn't move. He didn't flinch. He just leaned toward his lawyer, murmured something. The lawyer rose smoothly.
"Your Honor, we object to this recording's admission without forensic verification."
Daniel's lawyer scoffed. "It's the girl's own words. We all heard them."
"Did we?" Adrian's lawyer shot back. "Or did we hear a synthetic patchwork designed to mimic her voice?"
The judge frowned. "Do you have evidence?"
That was Ethan's cue. He stood, wheeling in a monitor like a soldier with artillery. "Yes, Your Honor. We ran spectral analysis on the file the moment Ms. Bennett announced its existence. What you just heard was not Ms. Carter—it was a forgery."
The monitor lit with colored graphs, waveforms sharp as mountains. Ethan zoomed into the word please.
"Notice this formant jump? Human vocal cords can't create this exact frequency slide without digital blending. It's stitched from three separate recordings—likely pulled from Carter Media's charity archives."
He clicked again. The word breathe appeared. "This syllable contains a background hiss from a recording environment that doesn't match Blackwell Capital's office. See the mismatch here?"
The judge leaned closer. Reporters murmured. Even some jurors shifted.
"And finally," Ethan said, voice steady, "the file header metadata." He enlarged a string of text. "Encoded with the exact same workstation ID as the earlier doctored video. BQC-Shadow-21. The same leaker. The same fraud."
Gasps. Pens flew.
Tara's face drained color.
Daniel's lawyer tried to object, but the judge cut him off. "Ms. Bennett, do you have any independent verification of this recording's authenticity?"
Tara stammered. "I—I heard her say it. I swear."
Adrian's lawyer stepped forward, voice like a scalpel. "Or did you hear your employer's paycheck louder?"
The courtroom erupted.
The judge hammered for order. Tara's lips trembled; her eyes darted to Daniel. He gave her a look, sharp enough to cut, but she held her smile in place like a mask nailed to her skin.
Then it was my turn. I stood, hands gripping the rail until they ached.
"Your Honor," I said, forcing my voice steady. "I never said those words. Not to Tara, not to anyone. What you heard was a lie dressed in my voice. And if my father thinks he can win by silencing me with fakes—he's wrong."
I looked straight at Tara. "You were supposed to be my colleague. Instead, you sold me to gossip accounts. You didn't protect me—you betrayed me."
The room gasped again. Phones flew up, live-tweeting every syllable.
For once, Tara didn't smile.
Back on the record, the judge spoke coolly. "Exhibit G is stricken. Until further verified, it is inadmissible."
Relief hit me so hard I almost collapsed. Ethan squeezed my shoulder, subtle.
But victory was fragile. Daniel leaned forward, his voice dripping honey.
"Your Honor," he said, "even if the tape is in dispute, the pattern remains. My daughter is nineteen. Blackwell is forty. Power imbalances cannot be ignored."
The judge pursed her lips, noting something.
Daniel sat back, satisfied.
Adrian still hadn't spoken a word. But across the aisle, his eyes found mine for half a second. Steel and fire. A promise: not over.
Court adjourned for the day. Reporters swarmed the hallway, shoving microphones, hashtags multiplying: #TapeStruckDown, #TraitorExposed, #PowerImbalance.
I was halfway to the car when Tara cornered me, eyes wild now, her composure cracked.
"You think you won today?" she hissed. "You have no idea what your father has planned."
"Neither do you," I shot back. "You're just his pawn."
She laughed bitterly. "Maybe. But pawns can still take queens."
Ethan pulled me away, but her words clung like smoke.
That night, in the hotel room, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Every time I blinked, I saw Tara's face, Daniel's smirk, the tape that wasn't real but almost ruined me anyway.
Then my phone buzzed. A new headline.
BREAKING: Daniel Carter to Release Financial Records Allegedly Linking Blackwell to Insider Trading.
My blood froze.
This wasn't just about me anymore. This was about destroying Adrian completely.