Chapter 936:
A crushing wave of shame swept over Samson. Meeting his daughter’s tearful, wounded gaze, he finally understood—if he went through with the lie, he would lose her forever.
“I really don’t have a choice,” he murmured again, his voice breaking as he leaned over her bed, his shoulders trembling with grief.
Just then, a nurse entered to change Ella’s bandages. Samson hastily wiped his face and stepped out, trying to steady his breathing.
As he neared the hospital stairwell, he froze. A stranger was waiting there.
A man in a tailored suit stood by the railing, his sharp gaze fixed on Samson. When he spoke, his tone carried unmistakable authority. “Samson Bennett.”
Startled, Samson turned to face him. “Who are you?”
The man held out a business card.
Samson’s fingers trembled slightly as he read the name on the card. “Brad Morgan, Director of Havenridge Trust?”
Meanwhile, Rylie’s attorney had just arrived at the detention center. It was Gatlin Welch—a formidable lawyer and the head of a world-renowned firm, celebrated for his flawless record. He was also a native of Eshea, just like Rylie.
Gatlin came prepared, carrying two neatly folded sets of formal clothing. Turning to the officer standing beside Rylie, his voice was firm but measured. “My client has not been found guilty. Therefore, she is entitled to appear before the court in suitable attire.”
During the earlier turmoil at the reserve, Rylie and Deandre had been left visibly disheveled. Their time in detention had put them in prison uniforms that cast an implicit shadow of guilt. The unfairness of that image was undeniable.
By law, the Owen siblings had every right to present themselves in court properly dressed and groomed.
Gatlin handed over the clothing, his calm composure unwavering as his gaze met Rylie’s. “Miss Owen, have faith in me. I will ensure we win this case.”
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The following morning, the courthouse was swallowed by a massive crowd.
Reporters from around the world stood shoulder to shoulder, cameras raised and microphones poised, ready to capture every second. Protesters held banners high—”Justice for the Victims” and “Rylie Is Innocent.” Police officers maintained a rigid perimeter, their formation tight, the air electric and stretched to the breaking point.
As the detention van crawled forward, murmurs rippled through the masses.
When the door swung open, Gatlin was the first to step out, his tailored suit projecting authority and control.
Then, escorted by several bailiffs, Rylie and Deandre emerged into view.
In an instant, every camera in sight came alive, shutters clattering like a storm breaking over the square.
Most had expected two exhausted, defeated figures, their faces drawn with fear and strain. But the moment they appeared, the atmosphere shifted. The crowd erupted into applause and admiration.
Rylie wore a refined light-berry dress that complemented her flawless complexion. Her beauty projected serenity and confidence, untouched by any hint of turmoil. Even the steel cuffs around her wrists seemed insignificant against her poised, unwavering presence.
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