"Motion to hold without bail?" Judge Whitmore asked.
"Your Honor," Crawford smiled, "given the value of the stolen property and the defendant's clear breach of trust after twenty years of employment, the state believes—"
"Objection!"
The word rang out clear and strong from the gallery. Every head turned. Maya stood, her chin raised, her folder held like a shield.
Judge Whitmore's face darkened. "Young lady, sit down immediately. This is a court of law, not a school play."
"I'm aware of that, Your Honor. I'm also aware that under Michigan Court Rule 2.117, Section C, ineffective assistance of counsel is grounds for immediate intervention."
The courtroom fell silent. Brewster's mouth hung open. Crawford looked like someone had slapped him with a fish.
"What is your name?" Judge Whitmore's voice could have frozen fire.
"Maya Thompson. I'm the defendant's daughter."
"Bailiff, remove this child."
"I'm thirteen years old, Your Honor. Under *People v. Garcia*, minors may address the court in matters directly affecting their welfare and custody. With my father facing imprisonment, I absolutely have standing to speak."
Crawford found his voice. "This is absurd. She's a child playing dress-up."
"This child," Maya interrupted, "has noticed several procedural violations in the last ten minutes. Would you like me to list them, or should I wait for the appellate court to do it?"
Marcus stared at his daughter like he'd never seen her before. "Maya, baby, what are you doing?"
She met his eyes across the courtroom. "What you taught me, Daddy. Standing up for what's right."