"Mr. Thompson, you're charged with grand theft, breaking and entering, and corporate espionage. How do you plead?"
Brewster barely looked up from his phone. "Not guilty, Your Honor."
District Attorney James Crawford stood with the confidence of a man who'd never lost a case he cared about. "Your Honor, the state presents compelling evidence. The defendant's key card was used to access restricted areas. Valuable documents worth millions are missing. The security footage from that night is mysteriously corrupted. We request the defendant be held without bail as a flight risk."
"That's ridiculous!" Marcus spoke up. "I've worked there twenty years. I live in the same apartment. Where would I run to?"
Judge Whitmore's gavel cracked. "The defendant will remain silent unless addressed directly."
Maya watched her father shrink back, saw Brewster whisper something that sounded like, "Just take a plea deal," and felt her hands clench into fists.
Crawford continued his theatrical performance. "The Hartley files contained sensitive information about a billion-dollar merger. Only someone with inside access could have taken them. Mr. Thompson was the only non-executive in the building that night."
"Because I was cleaning!" Marcus protested.
Another crack of the gavel. "Mr. Brewster, control your client."
Brewster shrugged apologetically, still texting with one hand. Maya wanted to scream. This wasn't justice. It was a railroad job, and her father was tied to the tracks.
"Furthermore," Crawford produced a manila envelope with a flourish, "we have evidence that Mr. Thompson has been accessing the law library after hours without proper authorization, clearly casing the firm for valuable information."
Maya's heart sank. They were twisting her study sessions into something sinister.
Judge Whitmore leaned forward. "Does the defense have anything to say?"
Brewster finally put down his phone. "Uh, yes, Your Honor. My client is a, um, good person, hard worker, no prior record."
That was it. That was the entire defense.