Because as Keller concluded his recitation of valor, Eliza stepped forward once more, her cane tapping softly against the floor, and said in a voice steady enough to slice through the tension, “Your Honor, I didn’t come here to be defended.”
Keller turned toward her, surprised.
She continued, “I came here because the contractor who failed to make my home accessible is the same contractor who financed your reelection campaign last year.”
The words landed harder than any accusation Keller might have delivered.
There was a murmur, confused at first, then sharp, as reporters who had wandered in on a slow news day glanced at one another and began typing rapidly into their phones.
Whitmore’s face drained of color in a way that no mention of federal statute had achieved. “That is irrelevant and inappropriate,” he snapped, but the edge in his voice had dulled.
“Is it?” Eliza asked softly, and from her briefcase she withdrew a set of documents, copies of campaign finance records she had obtained weeks earlier when the contractor’s confidence in court had seemed strangely assured, and she handed them not to Keller but to the clerk, who hesitated before passing them to the judge.
The room felt smaller suddenly, the air heavier.
“I requested a continuance last month when my medical treatment conflicted with the initial hearing date,” Eliza continued, her gaze unwavering, “and your chambers denied it within an hour, citing a need for expediency, yet you granted three continuances to the defendant’s counsel in the preceding weeks. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I’ve been underestimated before.”
Keller’s expression shifted from controlled indignation to something colder, more strategic.
