Crawford called his first witness: the security supervisor from Whitmore and Associates. As the man took the stand, Maya noticed his nervous glances toward the gallery, where Richard Whitmore III had just entered, his face dark with fury. The real battle was about to begin, and Maya Thompson, 13 years old, daughter of a janitor, defender of justice, was ready for war.
"State your name for the record," Crawford began, attempting to regain his composure.
"Bradley Hutchinson. I'm the night security supervisor at Whitmore and Associates."
Crawford nodded, shuffling his papers. "Mr. Hutchinson, tell us about the night of October 15th."
"Well, I was monitoring the security feeds when I noticed irregular key card activity in the secure filing area. Marcus Thompson's card was used to access restricted zones multiple times between 11:00 p.m. and 2:00 a.m."
"And these were areas Mr. Thompson wasn't authorized to enter?"
"Correct. Janitors are only allowed in common areas and regular offices, not the secure document rooms."
Maya made notes, her hands steady despite her racing heart. She caught something in Hutchinson's testimony that Crawford missed entirely.
"What did you do when you noticed this activity?" Crawford continued.
"I... I tried to check the video feeds, but they were corrupted. System showed multiple failures."
"How convenient for the defendant," Crawford said, playing to the gallery. "No further questions."
Judge Whitmore nodded. "Miss Thompson, your witness."
Maya stood slowly, every eye in the courtroom on her. She approached the witness stand with the folder that had become her shield and sword.
"Mr. Hutchinson, you said you were monitoring the feeds when you noticed the irregular activity. What time did you start your shift that night?"
"11:00 p.m."