Camila's fingers trembled slightly as she slid the damning folder across the polished mahogany of the prosecutor's desk. Her heart raced, but her face was a mask of cool determination.

　　"Everything is there," she said, her voice steady despite the chaos raging inside her. "Bank statements, emails, recordings-it's irrefutable."

　　The prosecutor, a stern-faced woman with hawklike eyes, flipped open the folder. She scanned the contents, her expression hardening with ...