My Fake Death Was The Punchline To His Cruel Joke Chapter 29
The judge’s gavel cracked like a whip.
“Order!”
But the dam had already broken.
That afternoon, three more defendants contacted the prosecutor, asking to amend their testimony.
They started a frantic race to the bottom, each one trying to pin the blame on the others. They pointed fingers about who locked the terrace door, who hired the fake cops, who tipped off gala security.
But every new confession only served to corroborate the evidence Bennett had provided—the planning documents, the invitation lists, the original videos.
They had believed there was safety in numbers, that if everyone was guilty, no one was.
Now, they were trapped in a web of their own making, each one dragging the others down with him.
When the last witness stepped down, she broke down, screaming at me across the courtroom.
“We’ve lost our jobs, our marriages, our friends! What more do you want from us?”
A bailiff quickly stepped between us.
I looked at her face, twisted with rage and self-pity.
“I lost a job, too,” I said softly.
Test number two. The most important interview of my career.
“I lost a marriage, too.”
Test number ninety-eight. The vows that meant nothing.
“And as for friends…”
I glanced at the defendants, still whispering and glaring at each other.
“You never had any.”
She collapsed back into her chair, speechless.
I said nothing more.
The trial no longer needed my testimony to expose them.
They had already shown the world exactly who they were.