Neither of them spoke.
Helen did not accuse Whitaker. She simply took a screenshot of the session record, printed the relevant log, and signed the incident note.
Then she disconnected the workstation from the network.
“We're going to preserve the data offline,” she said. “But I want an independent investigator involved before we do anything else.”
“Who can we trust?” Samuel asked.
Helen glanced at the door.
“Someone who doesn't report to the courthouse administrator.”
She took out her phone and searched for a number.
“There is an inspector general's office that handles misconduct involving court administration. They have jurisdiction over the system, the staff, and potential tampering with evidence. I'll contact them directly.”
Shaw nodded.
“Tell them this is time-sensitive.”
Helen made the call.
Samuel stood in the narrow server room, listening to the ventilation fan and the quiet sound of Helen explaining that a sealed criminal evidence file had been modified after hours.
For the first time, the case stopped feeling like a technical anomaly.
Someone was reacting to their investigation in real time.
Someone knew what they were doing.
And someone was willing to use the authority of the courthouse to prevent them from finding out why.
Across town, Eleanor Vale sat alone in a holding room beneath the courthouse.
The room had gray walls, a bolted metal bench, and a narrow window covered by reinforced glass. A camera watched from the upper corner.
Her wrists were sore where the handcuffs had tightened against the skin.
She flexed her fingers slowly, trying to restore the circulation.
An officer had told her that her lawyer would be permitted to see her when the court finished its morning session.
She had asked how long that would take.
The officer had shrugged.
Now Eleanor watched the clock on the wall.
10:19 a.m.
She had learned long ago that panic rarely helped anyone think clearly.
When her husband was dying, she had sat beside his hospital bed for hours, listening to the monitors and pretending that every new number might be a good sign. She had learned to keep her voice steady when doctors delivered difficult news. She had learned to ask precise questions when everyone around her wanted to speak in generalities.
She used the same method now.
What did she know?
The evidence file had been changed.
The change had occurred after midnight.
Someone had used credentials belonging to a court clerk.
And the prosecution had acted as if her request to examine the access records were an outrageous distraction.
She did not know who had altered the file.
She did not know whether Samuel Brooks was aware that his credentials had been used.
But she knew the prosecution's case depended on a digital timeline that did not match the original records she had seen before her arrest.
That was why she had spoken in court.
Not because she wanted to embarrass the judge.
Not because she expected anyone to believe her without proof.
She had spoken because the electronic logs could be the only remaining record of what had happened.
If someone was changing the evidence, those logs might be the next target.
The door opened.
A court officer stepped inside.
“Your attorney is here.”
Eleanor stood.
Her lawyer, Laura Bennett, entered carrying a thick folder and wearing the same black suit she had worn during the previous day's hearing. She looked tired, but her eyes were sharp.
“What happened in there?” Laura asked.
“They removed me.”
“I saw.”
“I asked the judge to preserve the access logs.”
Laura put the folder on the bench.
“I heard that part. I also heard the prosecutor tell the judge you were making baseless allegations. We need to be very careful about what we do next.”
“Then you believe me?”
“I believe something is wrong. That is not the same as knowing who did it.”
Eleanor sat down.
“Did you see the video they submitted yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Did you notice the time stamp?”
Laura opened her folder.
“I did.”
“The footage was recorded at 10:49 p.m., but the prosecution's exhibit label says 10:52. The building's security report also says my badge was deactivated before it supposedly opened the executive-floor door.”
“I raised both issues.”
“And?”
“The prosecutor said the discrepancies were minor and that the expert would explain them.”
“Did the expert explain them?”
“He said the camera system and access system used different clocks.”
“That doesn't explain the badge.”
Laura looked at her.
“No. It doesn't.”
Eleanor leaned forward.
“I spent eleven years reconciling financial records. When two systems disagree, you don't choose the version that supports your preferred conclusion. You find out why they disagree.”
“I know.”
“Then why does everyone act as if I'm asking for something unreasonable?”
“Because the state has built a case around the assumption that you are guilty, and every challenge to that case is being treated as an attack.”
Eleanor looked toward the small window.
“I didn't kill Adrian.”
“I know you say that.”
“I didn't kill him.”
Laura held her gaze.
“Then we need evidence that can establish what happened, not just your word against theirs.”
Eleanor nodded.
“That's why I told the clerk to protect the original.”
“Do you know Samuel Brooks?”
“No. I've seen him at the desk.”
“Did you speak to him before today?”
“No.”
“Did anyone tell you the clerk's credentials had been used?”
“No.”
Laura closed the folder.
“Then we need to find out how you knew the file was altered.”
Eleanor hesitated.
For the first time that morning, uncertainty crossed her face.