“These reports were submitted anonymously through the state’s online portal,” Sarah continued.

“But the digital signatures trace back to a single network.”

“This is irrelevant speculation,” Vance argued, stepping forward.

“It is not speculation, Your Honor,” Sarah countered. “The IP address belongs to the corporate headquarters of Whitmore Enterprises.”

A quiet murmur rippled through the gallery.

Judge Miller leaned forward, her eyes narrowing.

“Let me see those documents,” the judge said.

The bailiff took the papers from Sarah and handed them up to the bench.

“Furthermore,” Sarah said, turning back to our table. “We have physical evidence of a conspiracy to manufacture these complaints.”

She pointed to the pink plastic toy resting on our table.

“My client has just discovered an audio recording captured by her daughter’s toy device.”

“A child’s toy?” Vance scoffed, shaking his head. “This is absurd. We cannot admit playground toys into a formal custody hearing.”

“The device has an automatic voice-activated recording function,” Sarah explained.

“It was active in my client’s living room on the night Grant Whitmore forced his way inside.”

I felt Nathan’s hand rest on my shoulder.