"Thirty-seven times," Gail said quietly. "Thirty-seven people. And you call yourself the victim." Sullivan was on his feet. "Objection! Prior conduct is not relevant toβ" "It goes to pattern, your honor," Gail said. "It goes directly to credibility." "Overruled. Continue, Ms. Wilson."
Gail then called her first witness. Derek Collins walked into the courtroom like a man carrying a confession he'd held too long. He sat down, swore to tell the truth, and gripped the arms of the chair. "Mr. Collins, you are the plaintiff's trainer. Is that correct?" "Yes." "On the day in question, did you witness the interaction between Mr. Anderson and Mrs. Moore?" "I did." "Who initiated physical contact?"
Derek looked at Brock. Brock stared back. Derek's voice was steady. "Brock did. He slammed money across her face. He shoved her. He swung first. I screamed at him to stop because I recognized her stance. She's a black belt. She's the Phantom. And Brock hit her first. I told him not to touch her. He didn't listen."
The gallery murmured. Sullivan's pen stopped moving. Gail let the testimony breathe. Then she turned to the judge. "Your Honor, I have one final exhibit. Last night at 11:43 p.m. my office received an anonymous submission. The original unedited video file from Mr. Anderson's personal phone. Our digital forensics expert has verified the metadata. The file was created at 4:51 p.m. on the day of the incident. It has never been altered."
She pressed play. The courtroom watched in absolute silence. The unedited footage showed everything. Brock calling Wanda a filthy black woman. Brock mocking her grandson. Brock circling her like prey. Brock slamming money across her face. And then, only then, Wanda shifting into her stance.
Gail paused the video. She turned to Sullivan. "Counselor, your client submitted an edited version of this video as exhibit one. This original file was on his phone. You had access to it during discovery. You chose not to disclose it." Sullivan opened his mouth. Nothing came out. His face turned the color of old concrete.
The judge removed his glasses. He spoke slowly. Each word measured. "Mr. Sullivan, withholding exculpatory evidence in a civil proceeding is a sanctionable offense. I am referring this matter to the state bar for review. The plaintiff's claims are dismissed with prejudice. This case is over."
The gavel came down once. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. Brock Anderson sat frozen in his chair. The neck brace suddenly looked ridiculous. The arm sling hung limp and theatrical. For the first time since this started, he had nothing to say.