Your honor, as of 2:30 a.m. last night, the property in question was declared uninhabitable by city code enforcement. There is a verified dangerous gas leak. It is a severe public safety hazard. He placed the report on the judge’s bench. My client, Apex Horizon, is deeply concerned for the welfare of the defendant, Richard lied smoothly, his voice dripping with fake empathy.
We cannot in good conscience allow an 80-year-old woman to live in a bomb. We ask for an immediate order of possession so my client can enter the premises and remediate the hazard. For her own safety, she must be evicted today. Judge Halloway frowned, putting on his reading glasses. He scanned the report. A gas leak? That is serious. Code 114-102 is clear. He turned to Julian, his expression stern. Mr. Banks, your grandmother is living in a death trap. I cannot allow her to stay there. The law requires immediate evacuation. The courtroom held its breath. Richard Sterling smirked at the gallery. It was over. He had won.
Julian stood up slowly. He didn’t approach the bench. He didn’t look at the judge. He looked directly at Richard. Your honor, Julian said, his voice calm, resonant, and filling the room without a microphone. Mr. Sterling is correct about one thing. There was a gas leak. It was created at exactly 2:15 a.m.
Created? The judge looked up, confused. What are you implying? I am not implying anything, Julian said, his eyes hardening. I am stating a fact. The leak was caused by a heavy-duty pipe wrench wielded by city inspector Thomas Graves. Richard Sterling laughed. It was a nervous, high-pitched sound. Objection.
This is absurd. Counsel is launching conspiracy theories because he has no case. This is slander against a city official. I would like to call my first witness, Julian interrupted, his voice cutting through Richard’s laughter like a knife. Detective Angela Holloway of the Atlanta Police Department, Major Crimes Unit. The double doors at the back of the courtroom swung open with a bang. Detective Holloway walked in, her face grim. But she wasn’t alone. She was guiding a man in handcuffs, shuffling in an orange jumpsuit, his ankles shackled. It was Inspector Graves. He looked pale, sweaty, and terrified.
