Chapter 7 - The Trial of the Golden Child
Six months later, the Peoria County Courthouse was packed to maximum capacity.
Winter had frozen the Illinois River into thick, gray slabs of ice. Inside Courtroom 302, the heat was suffocating. I sat on the prosecution's side of the gallery, Luke's hand holding mine so tightly my fingers were pale. In my lap rested a clean manila folder containing full digital certifications of my breast pump logs, verified by independent forensic software engineers.
At the defense table sat Kenzie.
The transformation was astonishing. She had lost at least twenty pounds. Her designer clothes were gone, replaced by a drab navy pantsuit that swallowed her frame. She looked terrifyingly young, terrified, and broken. Beside her sat Dominic Rossi, his expression grim.
Behind them sat Beverly. My mother had aged ten years in six months. Her hair was completely gray at the roots, her skin hollow and sallow. When she turned and caught my eye, her gaze wasn't filled with arrogant rage anymore. It was filled with the desperate, hollow terror of a cornered beast.
The court clerk called the room to order as Judge Evelyn Ramirez took the bench.
""State of Illinois versus Mackenzie Dunleavy. Case number 26-CF-882.""
The prosecutor, an unflinching woman named Andrea Chen, stood up. She didn't waste time on flowery rhetoric. She projected three images onto the courtroom monitors.
The first was the rear of Chloe Martinez's smashed sedan, crushed into accordion metal.
The second was a photo of Chloe Martinez in the ICU, her head wrapped in thick white gauze, a dozen tubes protruding from her tiny throat.
The third was a high-resolution export of my Elvie pumping session:
User: Marisa Dunleavy
Bluetooth Mac Address: Verified
Timestamp: 01:58:12 CST - 02:24:45 CST
GPS Location: 40.6936° N, 89.5890° W (Master Bedroom, North Wing)
Volume Collected: 4.5 oz
""Your Honor,"" Chen announced, her voice echoing off the mahogany walls. ""The defense has spent six months attempting to suppress the digital forensic evidence. They have claimed device malfunction, user tampering, and identity confusion. But today, the State submits sworn testimony from the manufacturer’s lead software architect, along with cellular tower triangulation logs from the defendant Mackenzie Dunleavy’s iPhone.""
Chen turned slowly, leveling her finger directly at Kenzie.
""At 2:14 a.m., while the victim’s car was being struck at forty-two miles per hour, Mackenzie Dunleavy’s cell phone was streaming a playlist on Spotify via the Honda Accord's Bluetooth console. At 2:16 a.m., her phone pinged the Knoxville cellular tower, three hundred yards from the crash site. And at 2:18 a.m., while Chloe Martinez lay bleeding out in the freezing dark, Mackenzie Dunleavy sent a text message to her mother, Beverly Dunleavy.""
Chen clicked a button on her remote. The text message appeared across the massive screens in giant, stark white letters:
Mom I hit something bad. Car is smoking. I'm coming home. Say Marisa took it. Please mom say Marisa took it.
Beverly's response, sent forty seconds later, lit up beneath it:
Wipe the steering wheel. Leave the keys on the counter. Get in the shower now.
May you like
A collective, horrified gasp rippled through the gallery. Several jurors visibly recoiled, staring at Beverly in pure disgust.
Beside me, Luke exhaled a ragged breath. Kenzie buried her face in her hands and burst into loud, uncontrollable wailing.
