Page 5 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

“Withdrawn,” I say. Too late to matter.

I turn back. “Thoughts on my theory, Mr. Gannon?”

He leans forward, sneering. “Cute story. You should pitch it to Netflix.”

“Maybe I will.” I flash a cold smile. “That game you allegedly watched? Reed’s ankle? Sanford’s block?”

He nods, smug.

“That was last season’s game.”

He blinks.

“This April twelfth, the Knicks played the Suns. No injuries. No heroics. They lost. The average score? One hundred to ninety. Something a real fan would know.”

He stiffens.

“I guess you didn’t watch the game at all,” I say. “Because you weren’t there.”

Silence.

“You weren’t watching basketball,” I finish, voice flat. “You were raping Mariela Castillo.”

He slams a hand on the witness box. “I never saw her in my life!”

And just like that, the mask slips. The monster beneath surfaces—just a little—before he pulls it back in.

“Your Honor,” I say smoothly, “I’d like to enter into evidence Exhibit 12-C—security footage from the florist shop next to Tony’s Bodega.”

“Objection!” the defense erupts.

Judge Carter raises a hand. “Counsel, approach the bench.”

His lawyer demands, “Where exactly did you get that footage, Miss Hartwell?”

I stay cool. “It’s on the evidence sheet.”

The judge clicks open the digital court files. “Which is where, Miss Hartwell?”

I gesture. “Submitted with everything else, Your Honor. As always.”

The silence thickens—sharp enough to slice. Judge Carter scans his screen. Then his expression hardens. He stands.

“In chambers.”

He doesn’t need to shout.

“Bailiff, take the defendant back to holding.”

The gallery buzzes. Whispers rise like static. I glance at Mariela—panicked, wide-eyed. I force a smile.

It’s okay. I’ve got this.I hope my smile says that, though part of me isn’t sure.

In chambers is never where you want to be mid trial.

But here we are.

Judge Carter turns his screen toward me. “You’ve built quite the case. But I need the chain of custody for this footage—now.”

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