Chapter 8: What Adriana Was Hiding

The courtroom went completely silent.

Adriana's confession hung in the air.

I stared at her, unable to understand how someone could knowingly use a false recording in a case involving a dead woman.

The judge leaned forward.

“Ms. Ferraro, I want you to answer carefully.”

“What did you expect to happen?”

Adriana's hands trembled.

“I wanted Genevieve to leave the building.”

A murmur spread through the gallery.

I frowned.

“Leave the building?”

“Yes.”

She wiped her tears.

“I thought if everyone believed she was responsible for the noise, she would be forced to sell the apartment.”

My stomach turned.

“So you fabricated evidence to force me out?”

Adriana shook her head quickly.

“I didn't create the recording.”

“Then who did?”

She looked toward Daniel Mercer.

The property manager's face hardened.

“Don't look at me.”

Adriana's voice became smaller.

“Daniel arranged it.”

The courtroom erupted again.

The judge struck his gavel.

“Silence!”

Daniel immediately stood.

“Your Honor, she's lying.”

“I have never entered Ms. Ferraro's apartment without permission.”

The judge looked at him coldly.

“Sit down.”

Daniel slowly lowered himself into his chair.

The judge turned back to Adriana.

“Why would the property manager help you fabricate evidence against another resident?”

Adriana hesitated.

“Because he wanted Unit 1608.”

I froze.

“What?”

She looked at me.

“Your apartment.”

“The building has been trying to buy it.”

I stared at Daniel.

He didn't move.

Adriana continued.

“Unit 1608 is one of the few units with a clear view of the river.”

“A developer made an offer for several units.”

“But you refused to sell.”

I remembered the calls.

The emails.

The polite letters from management asking whether I would consider selling.

I'd ignored them because I had just bought the apartment.

I never imagined they would go this far.

The judge looked at Daniel.

“Is that true?”

Daniel's lawyer stood.

“Your Honor, my client has no obligation to answer questions unrelated to the plaintiff's claim.”

The judge narrowed his eyes.

“At this point, your client's involvement is directly relevant.”

Daniel finally spoke.

“Yes, there was an offer.”

“But I rejected it.”

“The building wanted the unit for redevelopment.”

I stared at him.

“Then why frame me?”

He said nothing.

The judge turned to the prosecutor's representative sitting nearby.

“I believe this matter warrants a criminal investigation.”

The prosecutor nodded.

“Agreed.”

Adriana suddenly began crying harder.

“I never wanted Nonna to die.”

That sentence changed the atmosphere.

I looked at her carefully.

“What happened to your grandmother?”

Adriana covered her face.

“She had been sick for months.”

“Her condition had gotten worse.”

“The doctors told me she didn't have much time.”

I felt a chill run down my spine.

“Then why did you say my noise killed her?”

Adriana looked up.

Her eyes were filled with guilt.

“Because I needed someone to blame.”

“And because Daniel told me that if you sold the apartment, everything would be over.”

The courtroom fell silent again.

I looked toward the judge.

“Then the recording wasn't created to prove I caused her death.”

“It was created to make me look responsible.”

The judge nodded slowly.

“That appears to be the case.”

Then something occurred to me.

“Wait.”

Everyone looked at me.

I turned toward the screen.

“The recording contained my children's voices.”

“But I hadn't moved into the apartment yet.”

The judge's expression changed.

“Explain.”

I took a breath.

“My children were living with their father during the renovation.”

“They didn't stay in Unit 1608 at all during September.”

A stunned silence followed.

Adriana's face went blank.

The judge immediately looked at the acoustic analyst.

“Can you verify that?”

The analyst nodded.

“We can examine the original audio file for metadata.”

“If the recording was edited or assembled from separate sources, we may be able to determine when and how it was created.”

The judge ordered the original file to be submitted.

I watched the USB drive being placed into an evidence bag.

For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt something close to hope.

But then the analyst looked at the file information.

His expression changed.

“Your Honor…”

He pointed at the screen.

“This recording wasn't made in September.”

My heart stopped.

“It was created three days ago.”