Page 79 of Double Standards
I nod. “Yes.”
She leans in, voice smooth. “So if we asked for footage from that night, could you prove your car never left your residence?”
Before I can say anything, Daniels jumps in with, “Objection, leading the witness,” throwing his hands up like he’s exasperated.
Judge Michaelson waves him off. “Overruled.”
She turns back to me, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. Her eyes lock onto mine with sharp, steady focus, sharp enough to cut through any doubt. There’s a quiet confidence in the way she holds herself, calm but unyielding, like she already knows the truth and is just waiting for me to catch up. Her lips pressinto a thin line, betraying nothing but determination. The soft light catches the subtle curve of her jaw and the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth—like she’s both challenging me and silently rooting for me at once. I can feel the weight of her gaze, steady and unwavering, as if she’s already in my corner, ready to fight for me.“What car do you drive, Mr. Bonanno?”
I smirk, raising a brow. “Black Mercedes AMG.”
She presses on. “New?”
“Always.”
“Satellite navigation?”
Daniels shoots out, “Objection! Irrelevant.”
She doesn’t miss a beat, eyes wide and sharp as she turns to face him. “Oh, it’s extremely relevant.”
Michaelson agrees with a nod. “Overruled.”
I watch her carefully, knowing she’s steering this exactly where it needs to go. And I’m ready for whatever comes next.
“Your honor, members of the jury,” she begins, her voice steady and sharp. “Cars with navigation systems keep a record of recent locations. The police have already checked the vehicle before this so-called ‘new’ evidence appeared. I’d like to question where exactly this ‘new evidence’ came from. There are no witnesses placing Mr. Bonanno anywhere else that night. The car’s GPS history confirms it wasn’t used, and for all we know, that image just shows a car parked outside somewhere in the city.”
Michaelson narrows his eyes over his glasses, shooting a warning glare at Daniels. He’s caught. There’s no doubt about it.
Daniels snaps, “We still have the murder weapon.”
She spins back to me, that smug smile playing on her lips—slow, knowing, and just a little wicked. It’s the kind of smile that says she’s already one step ahead, like she’s enjoying the game more than she should. There’s a spark of mischief in her eyes that makes it impossible not to notice, and it curls the corners ofher mouth just enough to be both confident and teasing, daring me to keep up. “Mr. Bonanno, do you own a gun?”
Of course I do. “Yes.”
“Can you describe it for the court?”
She’s already rifling through the photos, pulling out the one labeled as the ‘murder weapon’ just as I answer.
“Glock 19.”
She steps up to the stand, holding the photo out steadily. “Can you identify the gun in this image?” Her voice is calm, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it—like she’s warning me not to slip up.
I glance at the picture for just a moment before handing it back. “That’s a Beretta. A92,” I say plainly.
She presses. “You can tell just from the picture?”
I meet her gaze without hesitation. “Yes.” I point to the gun in the photo. “That’s not mine.”
“You’re certain of that?”
I nod firmly, then reach for my own weapon and set it deliberately on the table. The courtroom shifts; a collective gasp ripples through the room. “If I was going to kill anyone, I wouldn’t use a registered weapon.”
Cassie bites down on her lip, a flicker of frustration mixed with pride crossing her face. Slowly, I withdraw my gun and slide it back into its holster. Probably a bad move on my part—but no one stops me. No one says a word.
She leans in slightly, offering a look that’s almost encouraging. “Can you tell me anything else that proves this isn’t your gun?”
This is my moment, the chance to anchor my innocence, to close the gap of doubt hanging over me.
