Blackwood gathered his papers, his expression a mixture of frustration and relief. “Your Honour, I request permission to withdraw ascounsel.”
“Granted,” Judge Collins said. “Mr. Delaney, do you wish to request a continuance to secure new representation?”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll represent myself.”
A murmur rippled through the courtroom. I glanced at Victoria, who was watching Marcus with the focused attention of a predator spotting weakness.
“Very well,” Judge Collins said. “The court will proceed. Mr. Delaney, you may present your defence.”
Marcus strode to the centre of the courtroom, every inch the commanding presence I remembered. But something had changed—the jury was watching him with wary, skeptical eyes. They’d heard the recordings, seen the evidence. His charm couldn’t erase what they now knew.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began, his voice smooth and confident, “you’ve been presented with a carefully constructed narrative designed to paint me as a monster. But consider who I am—a man who has dedicated his life to supporting the arts, to charitable works, to building this community.”
He gestured dismissively toward me. “And consider the source of these accusations—a young man of no particular standing or achievement, a failed artist looking for a payout.”
Victoria stood. “Objection, Your Honour. Mr. Delaney is testifying, not presenting an opening statement.”
“Sustained. Mr. Delaney, please confine yourself to presenting evidence or calling witnesses.”
Marcus’s composure slipped momentarily. “I intend to call myself as a witness, Your Honour.”
“Very well. Please take the stand and be sworn in.”
After taking the oath, Marcus settled into the witness chair with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to being listened to.
“Mr. Delaney, as you are representing yourself, you’ll need to pose questions and then answer them,” Judge Collins instructed.
“Of course.” Marcus cleared his throat. “Mr. Delaney, did you assault Alex Lajeunesse on September 17th?”
“Absolutely not. We had an argument, yes, but any injuries he sustained were either self-inflicted or occurred after he left my home.”
“And the recording from the motel?”
“Heavily edited. Taken out of context. I was understandably upset that Mr. Lajeunesse had made these false accusations against me. My words were twisted.”
“Did you bribe jurors in the civil trial?”
“That’s preposterous. Why would I need to? The truth was on my side.”
For nearly an hour, Marcus continued this way, denying every charge with increasing indignation. But with each denial, the jury’s expressions grew more skeptical. One woman actually rolled her eyes when Marcus dismissed the forensic evidence as “fabricated.”
When Victoria rose for cross-examination, there was something almost predatory in her smile.
“Mr. Delaney, you’ve denied bribing jurors. Yet we have testimony from a juror who received a bribe from you, bank records showing your cash withdrawals, and your own recorded admission. Are they all lying?”
“They’re mistaken, or coerced,” Marcus insisted, but his confident façade was beginning to crack.
“And the notebook found in your home, detailing plans to locate and confront Mr. Lajeunesse—was that planted as well?” Victoria asked, lifting a clear evidence bag containing a leather-bound journal.
“That’s not what that notebook was for,” Marcus replied, a flash of irritation crossing his face.
“Please explain to the jury what else it could possibly be for.” Victoriaopened the notebook to a marked page and approached the witness stand.
Marcus straightened his tie. “It’s a personal journal. For thoughts and reflections.”
“Reflections.” Victoria nodded slowly. “So these entries listing Alex’s potential hiding places—motels categorized by price range and proximity to bus routes—those were just… reflections?”
“I was concerned for his well-being.”
