She was wearing a black silk dress, her eyes red and puffy.

When she saw me looking, she mouthed the word, *Please*.

I turned my gaze back to the judge.

The huddle at the bench broke up, and the lawyers returned to their tables.

“The objection is sustained,” the judge said, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room.

“These documents have not been authenticated, and the court will not delay this trial for a fishing expedition.”

“Ms. Bennett, you may continue.”

I took a deep breath and looked down at the ledger in front of me.

“On June fourteenth,” I said, “the ledger records a cash disbursement of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

“The recipient is listed under the initials ‘T.V.'”

“According to my mother’s personal journal from that same week, those initials refer to Alderman Thomas Vance.”

A murmur rose from the back of the room.

“Order,” the judge said, tapping his gavel once.

I turned the page, my hand steady.

“The entries continue systematically for six years,” I said.

“Each payment corresponds to a specific zoning permit or tax exemption granted to the Bennett Foundation’s commercial properties.”