His Nanny Mate By Eve Above Story

Chapter 311

Chapter 311 The Testimonies

Ella

The early morning mist hung low in the air as I approached the courthouse. Its grand stone steps and impressive facade were familiar to me now, having spent countless hours within its halls. © NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

However, today was different. Today, the weight of the impending trial pressed heavily upon me, making each step feel just a bit heavier.

It had been a month since Logan told me about his second case. A month of hard work, of stone walls and questionable morals. No matter how much I tried to convince him to reconsider his stance on the case, he wouldn’t budge.

And eventually, I gave up. Before I reached the grand entrance, a figure leaning against one of the building’s pillars caught my eye. Logan.

Even from a distance, the tailored fit of his suit accentuated his stature, and I had to admit, he looked especially handsome. His posture was relaxed, hands buried deep in his pockets, but there was a tightness in the set of his shoulders, a hint of unease that I hadn’t seen before.

Over the last month, working side by side with him, my admiration for his professionalism had been tainted by the growing resentment I felt. His refusal to see the real-life consequences of his actions, his seeming indifference to the fates of the tenants, it left a bitter taste in my mouth.

As I drew closer, I noticed a somewhat sad and apprehensive look in his eyes. Was it possible that beneath that calm, confident exterior, there lay a man grappling with his own conflicts?

Or was I merely hoping for some semblance of empathy from him?

“Ella,” he greeted, pushing off from the pillar, his voice smooth, a contrast to the tension in his gaze.

“Logan,” I replied, nodding in acknowledgment.

“Did you sleep well last night? Are you prepared to win this case?” His question felt genuine, but it also underscored our differing views on the case’s outcome.

I hesitated for a moment, my gaze dropping. Did I really want to win? The idea of victory meant uprooting countless lives, leaving families, like the one we had heard in the last hearing, homeless. The internal battle raged within me.

“I’m ready to perform my duty,” I finally said, my voice betraying none of the inner turmoil I felt. Instead, I offered a tight-lipped smile, hoping to sidestep the deeper implications of his question.

Not waiting for a response, I stepped in through the large front doors and then immediately veered towards the closest coffee machine. Its mechanical hum and the faint aroma of brewing coffee was oddly comforting in the midst of the tension. As I fumbled for some change, I heard Logan’s footsteps approach.

“Why would you waste your money on one of these crappy machines?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Have I note been paying you enough? You could get yourself something much better. Hell, I could have brought you a nice cup from that coffee shop around the corner if you’d wanted.”

I paused, looking up at him. The comment was typical Logan, always seeking the finer things, always living a life of luxury.

Normally, I ignored it. But today, it grated on me. With everything at stake, with the lives of so many hanging in the balance, such trivialities seemed so… insignificant.

“It’s just fuel,” I responded, finally slotting the coins into the machine. “Something to keep my mind sharp for the trial ahead. Not everything in life is about indulgence and pleasure, Logan.”

He seemed taken aback by the sharpness in my tone, his eyebrows drawing together slightly. For a moment, an awkward silence lingered between us, punctuated only by the soft gurgle of the coffee machine..

Logan’s gaze held mine, searching, as if trying. to decipher the layers of emotion and thought beneath my words. I could see a flicker of understanding, or perhaps it was realization, in his eyes.

Maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to see the broader picture, to understand the gravity of what was at stake. But he said nothing. Instead, he took a step back, giving me space to collect my drink.

The machine beeped, signaling that my coffee was ready. Taking the cup, I met Logan’s gaze once more. There was so much left unsaid between us, so many complexities surrounding this case and our roles within it.

“We should head in,” I finally said, breaking the silence.

He nodded. “Yes, we should.”

The courtroom was dense with anticipation, a quiet hum of whispered conversations filling the space.

As Logan’s lawyer, the weight of the case was on my shoulders, and the complexity of my feelings only deepened the burden. Each testimony from the tenants was like a knife in my heart, a stark reminder of the lives that would be disrupted by the case’s outcome..

“Miss Smith,” the opposing lawyer, Mr. Delaney, began, “please tell the court about yourself and your living conditions.”

A frail woman took the stand, her tired eyes scanning the room before settling on the judge. Next to her stood a young boy, not older than five or six at the most, with a thin face and an IV port visible on his arm.

“I’m a single mom,” she began, her voice soft but filled with resolve. “I work three jobs just to keep my son, Jonathan, in school and pay for his medical bills. He…he has Leukemia.” Her voice wavered, but she pushed through.

The courtroom was so silent you could hear a pin drop. My gaze shifted to Logan, watching for any sign of reaction. But he sat still, his expression masked, revealing nothing.

Mr. Delaney continued. “Miss Smith, can you tell us about your living conditions and your relationship with your landlord?”

She nodded, tears forming in her eyes. “This apartment complex was our salvation. After leaving my abusive husband, no one would take us in. Everywhere I went, they saw my income, my situation, and turned me away. But the landlord at our current complex? He welcomed us with open arms. He even lets us pay less in rent and doesn’t mind if we’re a little late sometimes.”

My heart clenched, guilt and sympathy. intertwining. I scribbled down some notes, but my mind was elsewhere. These were real people with real problems, not just case files.

“Miss Smith,” Mr. Delaney continued, “what would happen if you and your son were evicted?”

She looked down, taking a deep breath before answering. “We’d be on the streets. We have nowhere else to go. Without our current home, we can’t afford the treatments Jonathan needs. I can’t even begin to imagine…” She trailed off, wiping away a tear.

The weight in the room grew heavier, each word settling in the pit of my stomach. As the testimony continued, I felt a tear roll down my cheek. Quickly, I brushed it away, hoping no one noticed.

But when my gaze met Logan’s, his eyes were fixed on the mother and son. There was a clenching of his jaw, a slight crease in his forehead. It was a subtle reaction, but it was there. For the first time, it seemed the gravity of the situation was getting to him.

When the testimony ended, a hush fell over the courtroom. The words spoken lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of the human cost at stake.