Pritchard. Objection. Jonah's lawyer, a court-appointed man who looked terrified, squeaked, sustained. The judge rumbled. Stick to the facts, Mr.
Sterling. These are facts of character. Your honor, Sterling boomed. This woman is a manipulator. She seduced a lonely drifter, convinced him to forge these documents, and is now trying to extort a respected businessman.
She is painting a lover's quarrel as a criminal conspiracy. He turned back to Millie, leaning in close. "Did you not invite Mr. Pritchard to your room? Did you not ask him for money?
And when he refused your advances, did you not run away to play the victim? " The courtroom murmured. This was the narrative they knew. It was easier to believe a woman was loose than to believe a rich man was a monster. Millie looked at Sterling. Then she looked at Pritchard, who sat smirking at the defense table.
She thought of the cold nights. She thought of the wolves. She thought of Jonah standing between her and the door. "I invited no one," Millie said. Her voice cut through the murmuring.
"Mister Pritchard came to my door uninvited. He offered me money to be his property. When I refused, he promised to destroy me. She looked up at the gallery. You call me a fallen woman because it is easy.
It makes you feel safe. If I am bad, then you do not have to worry that a man like him could hurt a woman like you. But my life is my own. I did not sell it, and I will not let you write my story for me anymore. Jonah watched her, pride swelling in his chest, so hot it nearly burned.
She was not the trembling girl he had found in the cabin. She was iron. Then came the evidence. Doctor Clara Hargrove took the stand. Sterling tried to dismiss her as a hysterical woman, but Clara was a wall of medical fact.
I examined Miss Laroo. Clara testified. She held up a diagram. These fractures are consistent with a fall caused by force. These bruises on her wrists are consistent with restraint. and the laceration on her face matches the ring Mister Pritchard wears on his right hand.
She pointed at Pritchard. These are not the marks of passion, Mr. Sterling. They are the marks of brutality. I have treated mining accidents that did less damage to a body than this man did to her spirit.
The room grew quieter. The women in the front row stopped fanning themselves. Then came Henry, the bookkeeper. He was sweating so much his collar was soaked. He spoke in a whisper, but the judge made him repeat every word.