I never told my parents I was a federal judge. To them, I was still the “dropout failure,” while my sister was the golden child. Then she took my car and committed a hit-and-run. My mother grabbed my shoulders, screaming, “You have no future anyway! Say you were driving!” I stayed calm and asked my sister quietly, “Did you cause the accident and flee?” She snapped back, “Yes, I did. Who would believe you? You look like a criminal.” That was enough. I pulled out my phone. “Open the court,” I said. “I have the evidence.”

“It will be fine,” Vivian insisted. “We will hire attorneys. A minor sentence for you. Brittany cannot have a record. It would destroy her career.”

Brittany lifted her head. Her tears dried as quickly as they appeared. “She is right. Look at you. No one expects anything from you. Take the fall. For once be useful.”

Cassandra looked from one familiar face to another. No hesitation. No regret. Only certainty that Cassandra was expendable.

Something inside her went still, like a courtroom falling silent before a verdict.

“Very well,” Cassandra said softly. “Let us get our story straight.”

Vivian exhaled in relief. Brittany smirked again.

Cassandra began pacing slowly, voice controlled and professional. “Brittany, tell me exactly what happened. Every detail.”

Brittany rolled her eyes but complied. “I was at the Harborview gala. I took your car because mine was blocked. I had drinks. Then more drinks. I drove through Kingsport Square. The cyclist appeared. I hit him. I left.”

“Did you stop to help,” Cassandra asked.

“No,” Brittany said flatly. “I did not want trouble.”

Vivian stepped forward. “That is enough. She understands. Now get in the car and move it down the road.”