“Stop,” she shouted, her small voice somehow filling the entire chamber. “You cannot do this, because it is a lie.”
Security guards rushed toward her, but she slipped past them with surprising speed and stopped between the two legal tables, clutching a wrinkled manila envelope to her chest. The courtroom erupted in murmurs while cameras zoomed in on the unexpected intruder.
“Remove her immediately,” Gregory called out from the gallery, suddenly pale as he stood up. “She is just a street kid and she has no place here.”
Judge Harper leaned forward, curiosity overtaking irritation. “Young lady, state your name and explain yourself.”
The girl lifted her chin with quiet defiance. “My name is Abigail Turner,” she said clearly, “and my mother used to clean Mr. Gregory’s house before she died of cancer six months ago, and Mr. Franklin is not the father of that baby.”
Olivia’s face drained of color as the room buzzed with shock. “This is absurd,” she cried, dropping her act of fragile victimhood. “Security, take her out.”