Naomi turned slightly, gesturing toward Julian. "The State claims my client launched an unprovoked assault on two armed police officers. I would ask the Court to look at my client's face. Look at his eye. Look at his split lip. The police report claims that a twenty-year-old kid with a backpack full of calculus textbooks managed to inflict a hairline fracture on an officer while simultaneously receiving a brutal, concussive beating. It defies physics, and it defies common sense."
Sterling jumped to his feet. "Objection! Counsel is testifying and attempting to litigate the facts of the case during a bail hearing!"
"Sustained," Judge Franklin said, though he was staring intently at Julian's bruised face. "Ms. Brooks, confine your arguments to the bail criteria."
"Understood, Your Honor," Naomi pivoted seamlessly. "The criteria for bail is risk of flight and danger to the community. Julian Hayes works at a community center teaching robotics. His mother cleans office buildings to help pay for his textbooks. He is anchored to this community by every conceivable metric. A quarter of a million dollars bail for a college student is not a guarantee of appearance; it is a punitive ransom designed to force a plea deal from an innocent kid sitting in a cage."
Naomi leaned into the podium. "Furthermore, Your Honor, we have formally requested the body-camera footage of this incident. The State has informed us that, miraculously, both officers' cameras experienced catastrophic mechanical failures during the exact sixty seconds this alleged assault took place. Given the highly suspicious lack of objective evidence, holding this boy on a quarter-million dollar bond is a miscarriage of justice."
Sterling’s face was purple. "The camera malfunctions are being investigated by the department, Your Honor! That does not invalidate the sworn testimony of two officers!"
Judge Franklin held up a hand, silencing the prosecutor. He looked back at Naomi, then at Julian. The judge was a law-and-order man, but he wasn't blind. The boy at the defense table looked exactly like what he was: a terrified, beaten kid.
"Ms. Brooks makes a compelling argument regarding ties to the community," Judge Franklin ruled, his voice echoing in the silent courtroom. "Bail is reduced to twenty-five thousand dollars, ten percent cash option. The defendant will surrender his passport and submit to weekly check-ins with pretrial services."
It was a massive victory. Twenty-five hundred dollars in cash was an amount David Aris’s civil liberties fund could easily front. Julian was going home.
As the gavel fell, Julian let out a choked sob, dropping his head to the table. Naomi walked back to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We won the morning, Julian. You're going home today."
Sterling violently shoved his files into his briefcase. He walked past the defense table, leaning in close to Naomi. "You got him out today. But I’m taking this to the grand jury on Friday. I'm getting the indictment. You can't beat the sworn statements of two cops without video, Naomi. You know that. This isn't your jurisdiction anymore."
Naomi didn't even look at him. She calmly packed her own briefcase. "Mr. Sterling, you should check your email when you get back to your office. My investigative team just served a preservation order on the entire Oakhaven County Police Department dispatch system, server logs, and GPS tracking data for every cruiser in the west side. If you want to go to war over this, I strongly suggest you make sure your soldiers aren't lying to you."
Sterling hesitated, a flicker of genuine doubt crossing his eyes. He turned and walked out of the courtroom.
Naomi walked out into the bright morning sun of the courthouse plaza. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was a secure line.
"Brooks," she answered.
"Naomi," the deep, gravelly voice of Marcus Lane came through the earpiece. Marcus had retired from federal service two years ago and opened a high-end private intelligence firm. He worked exclusively for Naomi.
"Tell me you found something, Marcus," Naomi said, walking toward her parked car.
"Oakhaven is a fortress," Marcus reported, the sound of keyboard clacking in the background. "The neighborhood where Hayes was stopped? There are twenty-four houses on that cul-de-sac. Nineteen of them have smart-home security systems. We knocked on every door."
"And?"
"And every single homeowner told my investigators to get off their property. They are circling the wagons. The police union sent an email blast to the neighborhood watch captain last night, warning residents not to speak to private investigators representing 'the violent suspect.'"
Naomi unlocked her car door, frustration tightening her jaw. "So we have no video of the takedown."
"Not from the houses," Marcus corrected her, a slight edge of triumph in his voice. "But you told me to check everything. My team pulled the delivery schedules for the area. Yesterday afternoon, a heavy-duty commercial plumbing truck was parked at the corner of the cul-de-sac, servicing a busted water main. The truck belongs to a regional company. They have forward-and-rear facing continuous dashcams for insurance liability."
Naomi stopped moving. "Did you get the footage?"
"I served the subpoena on the plumbing company's corporate office thirty minutes ago. I have the raw video file sitting on my encrypted server right now," Marcus said.
"Does it show the foot pursuit?"
"Naomi," Marcus said quietly. "It shows everything. And it is going to burn Thomas Mercer’s career to the ground."
The secure conference room in Naomi’s downtown Richmond office was entirely soundproofed, its heavy glass walls overlooking the bustling city streets below, yet feeling a million miles removed from them. The room was dark, the motorized blinds drawn tight against the mid-morning sun. Marcus Lane stood at the head of the long oak table, his fingers moving rapidly across the keyboard of a heavily encrypted laptop. He had bypassed standard corporate couriers, driving the digital files down from Oakhaven County himself to ensure chain of custody. Naomi sat at the center of the table, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Alicia sat to her right, a legal pad ready, her pen hovering over the blank page. David Aris, having rushed over from his civil liberties coalition office, paced nervously near the back wall.