“I Can Defend Him!” – Declared The Impoverished 8-year-old Girl When The Attorney Abandoned The Young Millionaire

Outside the courthouse, the sky turned a pale orange. The steps overflowed with news crews, flashing cameras, and people shouting questions. In the middle of it, Amara stood alone, scanning the crowd. She knew her grandma was probably worried sick, but she didn’t have a phone.

Then a voice called her name.

“Amara!”

She turned and saw a woman running toward her, tall, tired eyes, hair pulled into a scarf. Grandma Joyce, out of breath but moving fast for someone with bad knees.

“Girl, what on earth!”

Joyce grabbed her by the shoulders, looking her over.

“You got the whole city talking about you.”

“I had to, Grandma,”

Amara said softly.

“Nobody else was going to help him.”

Joyce sighed, rubbing her forehead.

“Baby, you can’t just stand up in court like you Perry Mason.”

“He didn’t do it,”

Amara insisted. Joyce opened her mouth to argue, then shut it. Deep down, she knew that stubborn look. Amara got it from her mama.

A man in a gray suit approached, holding a mic.

“Amara, Joyce, Channel 5 News.” “Can we get a comment?”

Joyce stepped in front of her.

“Not today.”

She grabbed Amara’s hand and pulled her down the steps. They didn’t notice the black SUV parked across the street. Inside, a man watched them through tinted glass, his face hidden under a cap. His phone buzzed. He answered with one word:

“Problem.”

That night, Amara sat on the edge of her bed watching her grandma pace. The apartment felt even smaller with all the noise coming from the TV. Every channel replaying her courtroom speech like it was a movie trailer.

Joyce stopped pacing and sat beside her.

“Baby, why does this matter so much to you, really?”

Amara stared at the peeling paint on the wall.

“Because he cared about us, about Malik.” “Nobody else did.”

Joyce softened.

“You think helping this man going to bring Malik back?”

“No,”

Amara whispered.

“But maybe it means he didn’t die for nothing.”

Joyce sighed and hugged her. For the first time all day, Amara let the tears come.

Across town, Ethan lay in a jail cell staring at the ceiling. Amara’s words replayed in his mind like a broken record: “Somebody lied”. But who.

His thoughts were cut short when a guard appeared at the bars.

“You got a visitor.”

Ethan frowned. At this hour. He sat up. The guard unlocked the door, and when Ethan walked into the visitor room, his blood ran cold. Sitting there waiting for him was a face he thought he’d never see again. But what this man was about to say would turn everything upside down.

Ethan froze at the sight of the man in the visitor room.

“Trevor,”

He whispered. Trevor Maddox, the guy who’d been his best friend since college, the guy who’d been his first business partner before cash and ambition tore them apart. They hadn’t spoken in almost two years.

Trevor leaned back in his chair, calm, smug, even.

“You look like hell.”

Ethan sat down slowly, chains clinking.

“What are you doing here?”

“Checking on an old friend,”

Trevor smiled without warmth.

“Or what’s left of him.”

Ethan clenched his jaw.

“You set me up.”

Trevor chuckled.

“Relax, detective.” “I didn’t beat Hail.” “I’m not that sloppy.”

“But you wanted me to take the fall.”

“Wanted?”

Trevor tilted his head.

“Still do.”

Ethan’s stomach dropped.

“Why, Trevor? I gave you everything.” “I pulled you into Linkbridge when nobody else believed in us.”

“You pulled me in,”

Trevor said, his voice turning sharp.

“And then you pushed me out.” “You thought you were better than me.” “So I found someone who thought I was worth more.”

Ethan stared at him.

“Hail.”

“Bingo.”

Trevor leaned forward, eyes cold.

“He wanted you gone.” “I wanted payback.” “Win-win.”

Ethan felt his pulse in his ears.

“You framed me.” “You used my phone.”

“Cloned your SIM.” “Easy.” “Rental car?” “That was a gift from me to you.”

Trevor grinned.

“You should have seen your face when the cops showed up.” “Priceless.”

“You think you’ll get away with this?”

Trevor shrugged.

“Who’s going to believe you?” “The world loves a fall from grace.” “You’re not a hero anymore, Ethan.” “You’re a headline and tomorrow you’ll be a conviction.”

Ethan’s hands shook under the table.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I wanted you to know it wasn’t luck that took you down.” “It was me.”

Trevor stood up, buttoning his jacket.

“Enjoy your last night as a free man.”

The guard came in to escort Ethan out. He didn’t fight. He couldn’t. The betrayal sat like a brick in his chest.

Across town, Amara sat in the living room while her grandma dozed in the recliner. The news replayed her clip for the tenth time. Her name scrolled across the screen with headlines like, “8-year-old defends billionaire”. She should have been proud. Instead, she felt restless. Something was missing.

Amara opened her notebook, scanning every detail she’d written about the case. Flight times, traffic cams, the warehouse. Then her eyes landed on a single name: Trevor Maddox. She remembered it from an old article about Linkbridge’s early days.

She grabbed her pencil and started circling things. Trevor had been there at the start. He’d vanished after some lawsuit. And then nothing until now.

“Grandma,”

Amara whispered, nudging Joyce awake.

“We got to go back tomorrow, early.”

Joyce groaned.

“Lord, child, you trying to get me a heart attack?”

“I think I know who set him up.”

Joyce stared at her like she’d lost her mind.

“Amara, I’m serious.”

“Grandma, if I’m right, this ain’t just about Ethan.” “It’s about people who think they can do whatever they want and nobody going to stop them.”

The next morning, court was chaos. Reporters packed the steps like sardines. Protesters shouted on both sides, some holding “Free Ethan” signs, others yelling “Lock him up!”.

Inside, Ethan shuffled in with dark circles under his eyes. He barely noticed the cameras anymore. All he could think about was Trevor’s smirk. Then he saw Amara in the front row. She gave him a tiny nod, like, “Don’t give up yet”.

The hearing started. The prosecutor stood, smug and ready to close the coffin.

“Your honor,”

He said.

“The evidence is clear.” “Phone records placed the defendant near the scene.” “His financial motive…”

“Objection.”

Every head turned. It wasn’t a lawyer. It was Amara again. Judge Reiner slammed the gavel.

“Miss Johnson, just let me show you one thing,”

She pleaded, waving her notebook.

“One thing, and if I’m wrong, I’ll sit down and never talk again.”

The courtroom buzzed like a beehive. Cameras zoomed in. The judge pinched the bridge of his nose.

“30 seconds.”

Amara sprinted to the front, notebook in hand. She flipped to a page and slapped it on the desk.

“This,”

She said, pointing to a printout.

“Is an email from Linkbridge’s public folder.” “It’s old, but look: Trevor Maddox’s name.” “He was the co-founder.” “Everybody forgot about him.” “But guess what? He’s been meeting with Victor Hail’s lawyers last week.”

The prosecutor scoffed.

“That proves nothing.”

“Then why?”

Amara said loudly.