Chapter 3 — Cross-Examination

Gabriel Cole

Gabriel Cole sat at the defense table, his back straight but deliberately relaxed, projecting an air of confidence that masked the turmoil beneath. The courtroom hummed with low whispers and the shuffle of papers, creating a tense symphony that Gabriel had trained himself to ignore. Yet, the knot twisting in his stomach refused to loosen. When the judge re-entered, he resisted the urge to immediately look at her. Still, her presence struck him like a live current—calm, commanding, inescapable.

Judge Cassandra Blake. A force of nature in tailored navy, her sharp features and piercing gray eyes seemed to cut through the air with surgical precision. As she settled into the high-backed chair, she exuded an impenetrable authority. But Gabriel had seen it before—a flicker of something in her gaze, a hesitation so brief it might have been imagined. He clung to that fleeting moment, knowing that in this room, such subtleties could tilt the scales.

“Mr. Cole.” The prosecutor’s clipped, abrasive voice yanked him back to the present. “Would you please take the stand?”

Gabriel stood smoothly, buttoning his tailored jacket with practiced ease. Confidence was his armor, charm his weapon—but under these cold fluorescent lights, even they felt dulled. The bailiff swore him in, the ritual familiar yet unsettling, and he took his seat on the witness stand, adjusting his posture to project calm authority. His eyes flicked briefly to Cassandra. She was poised, her fountain pen hovering over her notebook, her expression composed as ever. Yet, her gaze lingered on him a fraction too long before dropping to her notes.

The prosecutor, wiry and taut with ambition, approached with the precision of a predator closing in. “Mr. Cole, let’s get straight to it. Would you agree that the investors in your company placed their trust in you, only to have that trust betrayed?”

Gabriel allowed the corner of his mouth to lift into a faint smile—just enough to suggest composure, not indifference. “I would agree they placed their trust in me, yes. As for betrayal, I’d argue that’s for the court to decide.”

A ripple of murmured amusement swept through the gallery, quickly silenced by the sharp crack of Cassandra’s gavel. “Order,” she said firmly, her tone even but unyielding. “Mr. Cole, please confine your responses to the questions asked.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Gabriel inclined his head slightly. Cooperative, deliberate—yet the air between them seemed to hum with unspoken tension.

The prosecutor pressed on, his eyes narrowing. “You mean to say you didn’t falsify financial reports to lure investors into your company?”

Gabriel held his gaze steadily. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. The reports in question were prepared by a third party. I relied on them, just as everyone else did.”

“And yet, those reports bore your signature of approval.”

Gabriel leaned forward slightly, his tone measured but unyielding. “A signature that was added after the documents were altered without my knowledge. I was set up.”

The prosecutor’s scoff was subtle but unmistakable. “Convenient, isn’t it? Claiming ignorance when it suits you?”

A flicker of anger rose in Gabriel’s chest, but he forced it down, channeling it into his response. “Convenient? No. Costly? Absolutely. I’ve lost my company, my reputation, and nearly everything I’ve worked for because of those documents.”

Gabriel saw Cassandra’s pen pause briefly against the page, though her face remained impassive. The prosecutor, however, was undeterred. “Are we really to believe that a man with your experience and resources wouldn’t notice falsified documents? That you were entirely oblivious to the fraud happening under your own nose?”

Gabriel hesitated, just for a moment, before responding. “I trusted the wrong people. That was my mistake.”

The prosecutor opened his mouth to press further, but Cassandra’s voice cut through the rising tension. “Mr. Marshall,” she said smoothly, her tone controlled but firm, “let’s keep the focus on the facts. Speculation is not helpful to the court.”

Gabriel couldn’t suppress the flicker of gratitude that surfaced. Her interjection was unexpected but welcome, momentarily shifting the room’s balance.

“Of course, Your Honor,” the prosecutor replied tightly, retreating with a sharp glance toward the prosecution table. Detective Lydia Torres rose, her movements precise, and approached the stand like a weapon being drawn.

Lydia Torres was petite but formidable, her sharp black eyes fixed on Gabriel with surgical intensity. Her voice, low and steady, carried an edge that made Gabriel instinctively brace. “Mr. Cole, you’ve painted quite the picture of betrayal and victimhood. Let’s talk about the facts.” She held up a sheet of paper. “This is an email from your account instructing a junior employee to proceed with filing the falsified reports. Care to explain?”

Gabriel glanced at the document but didn’t linger. His gaze returned to Lydia, calm but resolute. “I didn’t write that email.”

One dark brow arched. “But it’s from your account, with your digital signature. Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you want,” Gabriel replied, his tone steady but firm. “My email account was compromised around the same time those reports were altered. I didn’t find out until it was too late.”

Lydia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re asking us to believe that a man with your resources—someone with access to millions of dollars and a history of corporate maneuvering—was completely unaware of a breach in his own email?”

“I’m not asking you to believe anything,” Gabriel said, his voice cooling further. “I’m stating the truth. Whether or not you believe it is up to you.”

For the briefest of moments, Lydia hesitated. A flicker of something—doubt, perhaps—crossed her expression, so fleeting most wouldn’t have noticed. But Gabriel did. And, out of the corner of his eye, he caught Cassandra’s gaze snapping up, her pen momentarily stilled.

Lydia recovered quickly, her tone sharpening. “Let’s move on.” She flipped through her file, her questions becoming sharper, more calculated. Gabriel answered each one with practiced precision, though the weight of suspicion pressed heavily against him, as though the very air of the courtroom were conspiring to crush him. He twisted the signet ring on his finger—a habit he hadn’t shaken since his brother’s betrayal—using the motion to steady himself.

Finally, the cross-examination ended. Gabriel returned to the defense table, his expression impassive, though his mind churned with frustration and calculation. He glanced briefly at Cassandra. She was scribbling something in her notebook, her fountain pen glinting faintly in the harsh light. Her grip was firm, almost tense. What was she writing? Did she believe him, even a little?

“Gabriel Cole, ladies and gentlemen,” the prosecutor began, addressing the jury with a theatrical sweep of his arm. “A man of talent, charm, and deception. Don’t be fooled by his words. The evidence paints a clear picture—one of a man who will say or do anything to escape responsibility.”

Gabriel’s lawyer leaned in. “We’ll counter that in the next round. Stay calm.”

Gabriel nodded, though his attention remained on Cassandra. Her expression was unreadable, but something about the way her pen moved—deliberate, precise—made him wonder if she was seeing through the prosecution’s narrative. The recess was called, and the courtroom began to empty. Gabriel remained seated, his eyes fixed on the witness stand, replaying every question, every answer. Had he done enough? Had Lydia’s hesitation planted even the smallest seed of doubt in the jury—or in Cassandra?

“Mr. Cole.” Cassandra’s voice broke through his thoughts. It was formal, measured, but something about it caught his attention.

He looked up. “Yes, Your Honor?”

“Be back promptly after recess.” Her gaze lingered for a moment, her expression inscrutable, then she rose and disappeared into her chambers. The soft click of the door echoed in the now-empty courtroom, leaving Gabriel with a fresh wave of unease.

He leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly, twisting the ring on his finger again. The pieces were moving, but the board was far from clear. And somewhere in the middle of it all was Cassandra Blake—judge, enigma, and perhaps the only one who could see through the lies.

He could only hope she would.