Rise Of The Ill-treated Michael Wayne

A Familiar Voice

Two months in prison took the flesh out of Mr Charles; he looked like he could be whisked away by the faintest breeze.

Michael scowled at him with a frown as the police escorted him to the defendant table where he sat beside Mr Raphael and the defense attorney.

The court clerk announced the case and the judge asked the prosecuting attorneys to state their claim. “Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. The evidences we will be presenting will prove beyond reasonable doubts that Mr Charles Edward an emissary to Mr Gareth Winchester conspired with hired thugs to end his employer’s life,” one of the prosecuting attorneys said before taking his seat.

“Your honor, permit me to invite Mr Smith into the witness box,” the second attorney requested.

“Permission granted,” the Judge said and the police dragged a man into the witness box.

“Are you Mr Turner Smith?” the attorney asked.

“Yes, that’s me,” the man responded with a lower tune.

“If I may ask, Smith, what do you do for a living?”