ELENA POV
I stared at the email on Martina's phone for a long moment.
It looked real. The formatting was right. The language was professional. The complaint was detailed, specifying dates, cases, and instances where Brighton had allegedly interfered with judicial proceedings.
But I'd seen fake documents before. Brighton's people were fabrication.
"How do I know this is real?" I asked finally.
Martina pulled the phone back. "You can't. Not from in here. But when you get your phone privileges limited as they are, you can call the Bar Association yourself. Verify the complaint. It's on record."
"When do I get phone privileges?"
"After arraignment. If you're granted any contact beyond your attorney."
So I couldn't verify anything. Had to just... trust him.
I hated this.
"Okay," I said slowly. "Let's say I believe you. Let's say you're actually trying to help me. What happens next?"
