The recording had started just minutes before the police arrived that night.

My breath caught in my throat.

Sarah noticed my sudden stillness and looked down at my hands.

She saw the pink plastic device and the blinking green light.

Her eyes went wide, and she leaned closer to me.

“Emily,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “What is that?”

Before I could answer, the heavy wooden doors at the back of the courtroom creaked open.

A man in a wet trench coat walked in, holding a sealed yellow envelope.

The man walked with a heavy, deliberate stride toward our table.

Water dripped from the hem of his coat, leaving a trail of dark spots on the carpeted floor.

He did not look at the gallery or the judge.

He stopped directly behind Sarah and handed her the envelope.

“From the digital forensics unit, ma’am,” he whispered.

Sarah took the envelope, her fingers quickly tearing through the thick paper seal.

I watched her face as she pulled out a stack of printed documents.

Her eyes scanned the pages, and a tight, sharp smile formed on her lips.