As he took the stand and swore on the Bible, he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Mr. Abernathy,” Carroway began, pacing in front of the witness stand. “You are the owner and manager of the property where Mrs. Bellamy resides, correct?”

“I am,” Abernathy mumbled, adjusting his collar.

“Could you describe the conditions of this apartment? Is it a suitable environment for a young, impressionable boy?”

Abernathy swallowed hard. He glanced at Grant, who offered a subtle, encouraging nod.

“It’s… it’s very cramped,” Abernathy said, his voice trembling. “The heating’s always broken. The windows don’t seal. There are strange smells from the bakery below, and frankly, she’s late on rent again and again. I’ve had to issue warnings about the noise late at night. It’s chaotic. It’s no place to raise a child properly.”