But if she left, Whitmore would keep destroying families, keep breaking brothers, keep creating more terances. She made her choice. Tell him I’m coming," she whispered to no one. "Right after I finish this.
" Whitmore returned from recess looking refreshed. Coffee in hand, smug satisfaction on his face. He had no doubt this Black girl would do what they all did. Crumble, plead guilty, disappear.
He settled into his throne and gestured dismissively at Khloe. "Well, ready to stop wasting everyone’s time? " Khloe stood. Her hand brushed her chest, still recording.
Actually, your honor, I have a confession to make. His eyebrows rose with theatrical interest. A confession? Finally. Some sense from your kind.
Not a confession of guilt. Her voice rang clear through the courtroom. A confession of identity. What are you talking about?
My name isn’t Khloe Brooks. The courtroom went still. My name is Khloe Kennedy. Whitmore frowned. The name meant nothing to him.
She was just another Black face among thousands. 5 years ago, she continued, "You sentenced a man named Terrence Kennedy to 8 years in prison. You refused to hear his alibi witnesses, refused to examine evidence. You looked at a young black man and decided he was guilty before the trial began.
" Whitmore’s frown deepened. Trying to remember. Failing. Terrence Kennedy was exonerated 3 years later. DNA evidence. The accuser recanted.
He was completely innocent. Just like he told you. Just like the witnesses you refused to hear would have told you. I don’t recall every— He’s my brother. Silence.
Absolute crushing silence. He’s in a psychiatric facility now because of what you did. 3 years in prison broke him, destroyed his mind, stole everything he was and everything he could have become. Whitmore’s coffee cup trembled slightly.
So this is revenge. He tried for dismissive, but landed somewhere closer to nervous. You came here to shout accusations? This is a court of law, not a platform for personal grievances.
Khloe reached into her jacket. Bailiff, Whitmore started. She withdrew a badge, held it up so the entire courtroom could see. I’m a field inspector for the State Bar Association’s Judicial Conduct Committee.
Authorization code JCC-2024082. Whitmore’s face drained of color. Everything you’ve said today, every racist comment, every slur, every violation of judicial ethics has been recorded. She pulled out the device, pressed play.
His own voice filled the courtroom. Another piece of Black trash from the ghetto. Your kind never can afford lawyers. Too busy cashing welfare checks.
You people disgust me. Born criminals. A disease that keeps spreading. Each phrase echoed off the walls. Gasps erupted from the gallery.
White attorneys stared at their shoes. This is entrapment. Whitmore stood, face purple. This is illegal.