DeFiore nods. “Sure it can. And if I were in his shoes, I’d do the same. Without much proof, he has to rely on a familiar narrative. He’s adding drama to ratchet up the stakes. But strip away the color commentary and it’s a story we know by heart.”

“But it’s so simple.”

“Yet so effective.” DeFiore pockets another sandwich. Looks at Billy. “And often true.”

* * *

Back in the courtroom, Anderson can’t wait to get started. As soon as McKay says go, the DA is up on his feet and talking, as if no time has passed. “What is the defendant’s secret? What had him so anxious? What made him so angry?” He pauses to let us get our bearings.

The judge cuts him off. “I’m sorry, Counselors.” He nods at DeFiore. “We have to adjourn. An issue has come up this afternoon that demands my full attention.”

Are you kidding? I want to shout.

Anderson is annoyed; McKay has ruined his big reveal. “Your Honor, can we just fin—”

“Court will resume in the morning.” The judge strikes his gavel.

Dazed, I walk out, so nervous I’m numb. As Lawrence hightails the car to the hotel, I sit in the backseat like a robot. “So, it’s weed?” I ask Billy. “The secret?” I poke him. “Weed?”

His eyes are closed. He nods.

“But weed doesn’t make people violent; how can that be the secret?”

“The DA will say anything,” Lawrence calls out. “Don’t worry, Cassie. It’s nothing. If it were, Peter would’ve told us.”

He’s right; of course, he’s right.

At dinner, I go through the motions. I pick up my fork, chew, swallow, and try to ignore the screams in my head. Afterward, alone in my room, I get stoned and drown in loud music blasting through my AirPods. How will I survive three weeks of this?

In court the next morning, Anderson is champing to begin. He hustles, back and forth, near the jury box, a linebacker eager to annihilate the home team.

“What is the defendant’s secret?” he asks, quoting himself from yesterday. “What had him so anxious? What made him so angry?” A long pause. “The defendant, a twenty-three-year-old student, a world-class athlete in the prime of his life, has”—another pause—“erectile dysfunction, a condition more common in a seventy-year-old man. He has watched pornography since he was a child. Now, he is so addicted he cannot sustain an erection without it.”

Nate nudges me, smirks. For the first time in months, we connect. Porn? That’s it? The whole world watches porn. I am so relieved I almost laugh out loud.

I told you not to worry, Lawrence texts. You really can trust me.

Seated beside me, Lawrence reads my screen then squeezes my arm. “I swear,” he whispers.