Winning the Miracle Case

The courtroom was packed. Spectators filled the benches, and LNS Cartel members and journalists whispered among themselves, ready to record every twist in one of the most high-profile trials in recent memory.

At the front of the room, the judge, a stern-looking man in his sixties, adjusted his glasses and tapped his gavel twice.

"Court is now in session. The People v. Malik Carter will proceed."

Dylan sat beside his client, Malik Carter, at the defendant's table. His suit was pristine, his expression calm, but his violet eyes gleamed with quiet amusement.

He already knew how this was going to end.

Across from him, Jonathan Reese, the state prosecutor, stood tall, his presence commanding. He was known for his aggressive cross-examinations, and today was no exception.

Reese cleared his throat.

"Your Honor, the prosecution calls its key witness to the stand—Marcus Yates."

A side door opened, and Marcus stepped in, looking shaken. He wore an ill-fitting blazer, sweat beading on his forehead. His eyes darted around the room, landing on Dylan for a brief second.

Dylan's lips curled into a subtle smirk.

{Charm Activated}

{6/20 DF}

Marcus swallowed hard and the bailiff stepped forward.

"Please raise your right hand. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

Marcus hesitated just for a split second. Dylan noticed. The judge noticed. The jury noticed.

"I… yeah. I swear."

He sat down, gripping the edge of the witness stand like a lifeline.

"Mr. Yates, can you confirm that you were present on the night of the murder?" Reese approached.

"Yeah… I was there." Marcus licked his lips.

"And can you confirm that you saw the defendant, Malik Carter, shoot the victim?"

Silence.

Dylan leaned back, watching like a king observing a chessboard.

"I mean…" Marcus shifted in his seat. "Yeah, I thought I saw him, but… I mean, it was dark, right?"

He rubbed his forehead and glanced around nervously.

"And I was kinda, um… messed up that night."

A ripple of whispers spread through the room and Reese's jaw tightened.

"Mr. Yates, your sworn statement to the police was clear. Are you now saying you were under the influence?"

Marcus rubbed his temples.

"Yeah. I mean, I had a little something in my system. Might've been… really high, actually."

Dylan bit back a chuckle while the jury exchanged glances.

"But in your police statement, you were certain." Reese sounded frustrated.

"Yeah, I was certain then," Marcus admitted, "but now? Man, I dunno. Maybe I was seeing things. Maybe I got the wrong guy."

Gasps and murmurs filled the courtroom.

The judge leaned forward and adjusted his glasses.

"Are you telling this court that your testimony may not be reliable?"

"I guess what I'm saying is… yeah. I could've been wrong." Marcus shrugged helplessly.

Reese's expression darkened. He knew the case was slipping through his fingers.

"Mr. Yates," he said, voice sharp, "this is perjury. If you're lying under oath—"

"I ain't lyin'," Marcus cut him off. His voice cracked. "I just… ain't so sure no more."

'$100,000 well spent.' Dylan smirked.

The judge sighed in frustration and turned to the jury.

"Ladies and gentlemen, given the witness's unreliable statements, I advise you to weigh his testimony with caution."

Reese clenched his fists, turning toward his table. He had lost his star witness.

Dylan leaned toward Malik, whispering, "You're walking free."

The case? As good as won.

Every journalist in the room had their notepads ready—this was a case that could make or break reputations.

Dylan stood as he adjusted his tie and approached the witness stand.

"Mr. Yates," he began, voice smooth and firm, "you've just told this courtroom that your memory of the night in question is unreliable. Correct?"

Marcus Yates, still sweating, nodded.

"Y-Yeah… I was kinda messed up."

'Perfect.' Dylan smirked inwardly.

"But you were still willing to come forward as a key witness against my client," Dylan continued. "You were so certain at the time… Tell me, Mr. Yates, how much money did the police offer you for your testimony?"

Marcus froze, and the room went dead silent.

"I—"

"$30,000," Dylan said, cutting him off. "That's how much they offered you, wasn't it?"

"... Yeah." Marcus fidgeted.

Dylan nodded, then turned to the jury, walking slowly, letting his words sink in.

"That's strange, isn't it? A man deep in debt, owing money to loan sharks, suddenly comes forward with 'critical' testimony in exchange for a cash reward. A man who was drunk and high at the time of the crime is now saying he isn't even sure what he saw."

Murmurs spread through the courtroom.

"Your Honor," Reese quickly interjected, "this is irrelevant. The prosecution has ballistic evidence—"

"Ah, yes!" Dylan turned toward Reese, his smirk widening. "The so-called ballistic evidence."

He grabbed a folder from the defense table, flipping it open dramatically.

"This bullet casing the prosecution claims is 'damning' evidence was not found at the crime scene. No, no, no. It was found in my client's home."

He slammed the folder shut and turned to the jury.

"Not at the murder scene. But at his home."

The jury members exchanged glances.

"Tell me, Mr. Reese, how does a bullet casing magically travel from a crime scene to my client's residence unless the police went digging for anything they could use against him?"

Reese gritted his teeth.

"The ballistics still match the murder weapon—"

"And where is this so-called murder weapon?" Dylan interrupted, voice sharp. "Not found on my client. Not found near the crime scene. The prosecution is asking you to believe my client committed murder without a single eyewitness, without the murder weapon in his possession, and with only a bullet casing that was found in his own home?"

More murmurs came from the gallery.

"But let's talk about Marcus Yates." Dylan turned back toward the witness stand.

He pulled out another file.

"Mr. Yates, you have a criminal record, don't you?"

"... Yeah." Marcus gulped.

Dylan flipped through the pages.

"Fraud. Petty theft. Perjury in a prior court case. And yet, the prosecution built their entire case around your testimony?"

Reese tried to cut in, but Dylan raised a hand.

"No, no. Let's not interrupt. This is important."

Dylan turned back to the jury, eyes filled with confidence.

"This man—a known liar—has already admitted to being high the night of the crime. He has a history of dishonesty and desperation for money. And you want to send my client to prison based on his word?"

The jury looked visibly uneasy.

Reese looked cornered, but Dylan wasn't done. He pulled out a tablet and tapped the screen and video played on the courtroom monitors.

The grainy footage showed Manny Cruz, a known gang enforcer, standing in front of a bar, talking to a group of men.

"Victor Alvarez thinks he's untouchable. But he's got another thing coming. I swear on everything, I'll put that motherf— six feet under myself!"

The courtroom gasped.

Another video was played. This time, another known criminal was ranting on social media about how much he hated Victor.

Dylan turned back to the jury.

"These are just two examples of people who openly threatened Victor Alvarez. Many others had motives and yet, the police didn't go after them. They went after Malik Carter."

He turned toward the judge.

"Your Honor, I move that this case is built on selective prosecution. My client has a criminal past, but that does not make him the only suspect. The police chose him because it was easy. Because they knew the system would always see him as a criminal, no matter what he did. This isn't justice. This is bias."

The jury members nodded slightly.

Dylan turned to them, his expression softening.

"Malik Carter made mistakes. He went to prison. He served his time. And when he got out, he tried to start over. He opened a small business. He wanted a new life. But instead of letting him prove himself, the system wants to drag him back down."

He paused, his voice filled with conviction.

"This is not a trial about a murder. This is a trial about a man fighting to move forward, only to be dragged down by a system that refuses to see him as anything but a criminal."

Silence.

Dylan stepped back to his seat.

"The defense rests, Your Honor."

The judge sighed heavily.

"We'll take a short recess before the jury deliberates."

The room buzzed with conversation.

The jury returned a few minutes later and the judge asked,

"Has the jury reached a verdict?"

A jury member stood.

"Yes, Your Honor."

She took a breath.

"We find the defendant, Malik Carter, not guilty."

Buzz!

Malik exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the table. A wide grin spread across his face and Dylan just smirked.

The journalists scrambled to report the shocking upset.

Malik's supporters in the crowd cheered.

Reese looked defeated.

Dylan buttoned his jacket, turned to Malik, and simply said,

"Told you."