Jasmine immediately covered her face with her hands, putting on a masterful performance as the innocent, traumatized sister.
Thomas stood behind her, placing a supportive arm around her shoulders while glaring at Kendall.
Kendall remained perfectly still, watching the scene unfold with the detached precision of someone who had seen thousands of such performances in court.
She had seen more elaborate lies in her career as a federal judge, but she had rarely seen one quite this cynical.
One of the police officers stepped forward, his hand resting on his utility belt.
“Miss, I need you to tell me, were you the one driving this vehicle tonight?”
Irene jumped in before Kendall could even open her mouth.
“Yes, she was! She has always been trouble, living alone, hanging out with God knows who, and working in those dusty courts all day long.”
Kendall raised a hand to silence her mother, her posture regal and unbothered.
“Officer, I am going to make my official statement, but first, I need you to listen to this recording.”
Jasmine lowered her hands, her face going stark white as the realization hit her.
“You have absolutely no right to record us!” Jasmine shouted.
“In my car, I certainly do,” Kendall replied coldly. “And on my private property as well.”
Thomas blinked, his confidence beginning to crumble like dry sand.
“What are you talking about, in your car?”
Kendall did not take her eyes off her sister.
“My car is equipped with a court-approved security system, including exterior cameras, in cabin audio, GPS tracking, cloud backup, and automatic activation upon any impact.”
Jasmine looked like she was about to faint.
“You are lying to them, you are just trying to make me look bad!”
“No,” Kendall said firmly.
She tapped her screen, and the audio recording began to play loudly, clear as day.
First, the video footage appeared, showing Jasmine stumbling into the driver’s seat after taking the keys from Kendall’s purse, followed by the sight of a wine bottle rolling across the floorboard.
Irene lunged forward, trying to snatch the phone from Kendall’s hand.
“Give that to me right now!”
The police officer stepped between them, his hand out.
“Ma’am, please step back immediately.”
Kendall continued to play the recording.
The sound of the violent impact rang out through the speakers, followed by a sickening thud.
Then, the audio of Jasmine screaming in a panic: “No, no, no! Just start the car and drive, get us out of here before anyone sees us!”
The video showed the car swerving forward, and the rear camera captured the man lying on the pavement, his hand twitching once before going still.
The police officer beside them grimaced, his jaw tightening.
“Where exactly did this happen?” the officer asked, looking at Kendall.
“It happened near the intersection of Elm Street and Orchard Avenue,” Kendall replied, her voice devoid of emotion. “I have already sent the exact GPS coordinates and a full, timestamped copy of this file to the central server.”
Thomas stumbled backward, his back hitting the wall of the garage.
“Who did you send this to?”
Kendall pressed another button, and the phone began to dial a number on speakerphone.
“Secure evidence division,” a stern, professional male voice answered.
“Open an emergency log,” Kendall said, her voice taking on the authority of her position. “I am submitting evidence regarding a stolen vehicle, a hit and run, attempted domestic violence, and the filing of a false police report.”
The voice responded immediately, recognizing the tone instantly.
“Understood, Judge Harris, we are logging the files now.”
The silence that followed was heavy and brutal.
Irene stopped her fake sobbing, her mouth agape in terror.
Jasmine slowly dropped her hands, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Thomas looked at Kendall as if he were seeing a complete stranger.
“Judge?” he whispered, the word feeling foreign on his tongue.
