They Framed My Dead Grandfather,But I Had the Last Laugh

It was the surveillance footage from the day of the incident. The plate number 0817 was clearly visible on screen.

"So nobody actually saw my grandfather's face. What does a license plate alone prove? Someone else could have been driving that car."

The moment the words left my mouth, Michael flew into a rage.

He shot to his feet, eyes bloodshot, and screamed at me.

"You bitch! You can see what your family did to my father, and you still won't admit it!"

"Hand over that old bastard right now!"

I spread my hands and shrugged, unbothered.

"Without substantial evidence, a license plate number alone proves nothing. I'm not accepting this."

The plaintiff's attorney let out a cold laugh, rose to his feet, and fixed me with a loaded stare.

"Since you refuse to admit it, let's have the victim himself tell us exactly what happened that day."

An elderly man's face appeared on the large screen. My hands, hanging at my sides, clenched into fists.

The man in the photograph was my grandfather.

"Sir, take a look at this person. Is he the same driver who hit you?"

The old man raised his trembling head and glanced at the face on the screen for barely a second before ducking away as though he'd been startled.

His voice shook as he spoke.

"Y-yes... he's the one who hit me."

The moment the words left his mouth, the courtroom erupted.

People leaped to their feet, pointing at me and hurling insults.

"What's there to argue about? Sentence that old bastard already! She's shielding a criminal, and she should go down too!"

"Since she's so determined to protect him, throw them both in prison!"

I ignored their curses. My gaze settled on the old man in the wheelchair, searching.

His pant legs hung empty, and bandages covered his body. He looked badly injured.

"Sir, did you truly see my grandfather behind the wheel when he hit you? With your own eyes?"

"Do you understand the consequences of fabricating evidence?"

Michael shot to his feet and planted himself in front of the old man, blocking my line of sight.

"Don't you dare threaten my father. Your family is in the wrong here, not him!"

"My father is eighty-three years old, and he's suffered like this, and you people still refuse to own up to it. How can anyone be this shameless!"

Even the judge furrowed his brow and looked at me.

"Defendant, I suggest you disclose your grandfather's whereabouts immediately."

The plaintiff's attorney submitted each piece of evidence with an air of absolute confidence, then turned to offer me a few words of counsel.

"Defendant, the evidence is overwhelming. Do you really intend to keep obstructing these proceedings?"

Even Mr. Finch shoved me impatiently and sneered.

"They've already presented two pieces of evidence. What else is there to say? Just cooperate and let's wrap this up."

I let out a cold laugh and pointed at the evidence in the attorney's hands.

"Every last piece of it is fabricated. Why would I be afraid?"