CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN – THE STORM WINS

But as Jack Weston strode to the lectern, squaring his broad shoulders with a look of grim determination, the first glimmer of renewed hope flickered in Kayla's chest. He was a born fighter, an old lion with the courtroom savvy of ten men - and today, he would unleash the full force of his prowess on their behalf "The prosecution has certainly woven an...engrossing tale of financial treachery," Weston began in his trademark gravelly drawl, one bushy brow arching upwards. "An intricate web of backroom dealings and suspect accounting, all ensnaring my clients inexorably in its clutches like a pair of helpless victims caught in a Venus Flytrap." Already, a hush had fallen over the courtroom as he paced a slow, purposeful circle around the gallery. Kayla watched in quiet admiration as he began laying the first carefully constructed bricks of their counter-narrative, his words wielded with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. "But what the good prosecutors have so conveniently omitted