Elijah stopped breathing. His heart pounded against his ribs like a jackhammer.
Dana Pierce had known. She had known all along that Sarah was innocent. She had received absolute, undeniable proof of a cyberattack, and she had buried the report. She deliberately withheld exculpatory evidence to secure a conviction, to protect the city council.
It was a textbook, egregious Brady violation. It was prosecutorial misconduct of the highest order. It was a felony.
But Elijah knew that if he just walked into court and yelled about the email, Pierce would object, claim it was inadmissible, or say it was a draft. He needed to trap her. He needed to lock her into a lie on the public record in front of the judge and the jury, and then drop the guillotine.
He spent the next three hours drafting a highly specific, devastating legal trap. He wasn't just going to save his mother; he was going to use the exact same laws Pierce used to oppress people to completely dismantle her career. He was going to set a legal precedent that would echo through the state.
When the sun rose over Chicago, Elijah Cross stood up. He changed his shirt, washed his face in the library bathroom, and looked at himself in the mirror. The frightened, stuttering boy from the first four days was gone. In his eyes was the cold, calculating precision of a master chess player who had just seen mate in three moves.
Courtroom 302 was packed. Word had spread through the courthouse about the kid lawyer who was getting destroyed by the legendary Dana Pierce. Law students, local reporters, and off-duty clerks filled the gallery, eager to watch the final slaughter.
Sarah Cross sat at the defense table, looking pale and defeated. She reached out and squeezed Elijah's hand. "It's okay, baby," she whispered. "You did your best. I'm so proud of you."
Elijah squeezed her hand back, his grip firm. "I'm not done, Mom. Just watch."