The courtroom of Room 318 was so silent that the hum of the fluorescent lights sounded loud against the marble walls. Every seat in the gallery was filled; sketch artists leaned forward with pastel pencils poised; federal marshals stood at rigid attention along the perimeter. Maya Thorne walked to the witness stand with calm, measured grace. She wore a tailored midnight-blue suit, her dark hair swept back, David Lindqvist's antique…
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