Chapter 9 – The Court Strikes Back
The courtroom was electric, a battlefield of law where words held the weight of war. Every seat in the gallery was filled—reporters, politicians, lawyers, and criminals alike. This wasn't just another case.
This was an exposé of Gotham's deepest secret.
Ibrahim Al-Farooq stood firm, his presence like an unshakable pillar. Across from him sat Nathaniel Crane, the face of old money, arrogance, and control. The Court had finally stepped into the light, but they weren't here to fight fairly.
They were here to bury him.
The judge looked over his glasses. "Mr. Al-Farooq, you may proceed with your examination of the witness."
Ibrahim turned back to Marcus Kline, the former Superior Court Judge who had just admitted his decades-long servitude to the Court.
"Mr. Kline," Ibrahim's voice rang clear, "you stated under oath that the Court of Owls dictated your rulings. Did they ever threaten you directly?"
Kline hesitated. His fingers twitched. Fear clung to him.
"Yes," he finally whispered.
"Speak up, Mr. Kline. The jury needs to hear you."
The old man swallowed hard. "Yes. They made it clear—if I ever ruled against their interests, my family would suffer the consequences."
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the jury.
Nathaniel Crane exhaled, shaking his head with practiced disappointment.
"Objection, Your Honor," Crane said smoothly. "We are expected to believe a man who only now finds his conscience after twenty years of supposed corruption? A man who—if we are to believe the prosecution—enabled the very injustice he now condemns?"
The judge nodded. "Sustained. Mr. Al-Farooq, please keep your questioning relevant to the case at hand."
Ibrahim smirked.
"Oh, it's relevant, Your Honor."
He turned back to Kline.
"How many cases did you preside over in which evidence was altered by the Court?"
Kline hesitated.
"At least… a hundred."
Murmurs erupted in the courtroom.
Ibrahim pressed forward.
"Did you ever oversee cases involving Arkham Asylum?"
Kline nodded.
"Yes. Many."
"And did the Court dictate which criminals were sent there?"
The old judge's voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."
Ibrahim turned to the jury.
"Ladies and gentlemen, do you understand what this means? Arkham wasn't just a place for the insane—it was a storage facility. A warehouse where the Court sent people they couldn't kill outright."
He whipped around to Crane, eyes burning. "Tell me, Mr. Crane, how does an urban legend control Gotham's mental institutions?"
Crane didn't flinch.
"Are we really to believe the prosecution's conspiracy theories? That an invisible hand controls Gotham's every institution?"
He chuckled.
"Mr. Al-Farooq, your entire case is built on the testimony of a disgraced judge and a few conveniently timed leaks. You claim that the Court manipulates Gotham's legal system, yet the people you accuse of being its members? They are businessmen, politicians, philanthropists. Where is your evidence?"
Ibrahim's smirk widened.
"Funny you should ask."
The courtroom went silent as he tapped a button on his system's interface.
The massive screen behind him flickered to life. A document appeared—an internal memo from Crane Holdings.
At the top, stamped in red, were the words:
ARKHAM TRANSFER ORDER—APPROVED BY THE COURT
The jury froze. The judge's face hardened.
Crane's fingers tensed against the table.
Ibrahim stepped forward.
"This is an official request from Crane Holdings to have an individual transferred to Arkham Asylum under falsified psychological evaluations. The signature?"
He zoomed in.
"Nathaniel Crane."
The room exploded.
Shouts. Gasps. Reporters frantically scribbled notes.
Crane kept his expression neutral, but Ibrahim saw it—the flicker of tension in his jaw.
The judge banged his gavel. "Order! Order in the court!"
Ibrahim's voice cut through the chaos.
"Mr. Crane, do you deny this is your signature?"
Crane leaned back, masking his fury. "I do not. But let me be clear—this is not evidence of a criminal conspiracy. Arkham receives many requests. We ensure Gotham's safety."
Ibrahim stepped closer.
"You ensure Gotham's safety?" He scoffed. "Mr. Crane, the man listed in this transfer order is Daniel Reese, a journalist who was writing an exposé on Gotham's corrupt elite. You had him declared insane and locked away. That's not safety."
His voice turned cold.
"That's tyranny."
Crane's patience cracked.
"Objection!" he barked. "The prosecution is making baseless accusations!"
The judge turned to Ibrahim. "Mr. Al-Farooq, do you have further evidence to corroborate your claims?"
Ibrahim didn't break eye contact with Crane.
"Yes, Your Honor. And I'd like to call my next witness."
He turned toward the doors.
"I call Dr. Alice Monroe to the stand."
The doors swung open.
A woman stepped in—mid-forties, hair tied in a tight bun, dressed in a dark blazer.
A former Arkham psychiatrist.
Crane's entire demeanor changed. For the first time, his fingers twitched on the table.
Ibrahim smiled.
Because he had just played his trump card.
And the Court knew it.
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