I couldn’t speak.

I just looked at the faded blue shirt in the plastic bag.

The doors to the courtroom opened, and a deputy walked in, carrying a manila envelope.

The deputy walked past the gallery and handed the manila envelope directly to Sarah.

She ripped it open immediately.

Inside were several sheets of paper with the letterhead of a bank in the Cayman Islands, along with a signed affidavit.

“This is from Daniel,” Sarah whispered to me.

“He didn’t want to go down for conspiracy.”

I looked at the signature at the bottom of the page.

It was Daniel’s messy handwriting, authorized by a notary public.

Before I could read the details, the bailiff stepped toward us.

“The judge wants everyone in his chambers,” the bailiff said.

“Now, please.”

I stood up, my knees trembling slightly.

Grant was already on his feet, his face pale and his jaw set tight.

Preston Carroway was whispering aggressively in his ear, but Grant wasn’t looking at his lawyer.

He was staring straight at me, his eyes dark with anger.

We walked down the narrow hallway behind the courtroom.