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“Cameras you installed to spy on your ex-wife, isn’t that right?”
“Objection!” calls Newhouse, not even bothering to lean forward in his chair. “Speculative.”
“Sustained,” the judge agrees.
Nidi changes tactics. “Why did you install these cameras?”
“It was my place. I have a right to install whatever I want toprotectmy then-wife, and protect our property. In case we’re ever broken into, or, God forbid, she’s assaulted at home, we’d have video of the creep who did it.”
Behind me, I hear Natalie’s nails scrape the wooden bench she’s sitting on, enraged by the thought that Western ever did anything to protect her.
“And yet,” Nidi goes on, “you used those cameras to take illicit photographs of your ex-wife and my client, then published them without consent in your papers, isn’t that right?”
“With all due respect, Miss Prasad,” Western answers, “Most of what I publish comes from third parties.”
“Third parties?”
“Sure. Guys like Weasel, who you had here earlier. Or just private citizens with cell phones. Like the video on my website of my ex-wife slapping your client at a street corner.”
Nidi takes a step toward him. “Except, with regard to the pictures we’re discussing today, isn’t it true they came from these cameras?”
Western pretends to think a moment. “Y’know, I can’t remember,” he says.
“You can’t remember?”
“We publish a lot of photos; I don’t always know where they come from.”
“So, what you’re saying,” Nidi says, stepping toward him again, “is that you’re a sloppy publisher?”
“Objection, Your Honor!” Newhouse calls.
“Sustained,” the judge agrees, again.
Nidi goes through a series of the photos of Natalie and I in bed together. Fortunately, even though they’re blown up on screen, all the offending bits are blacked out and our faces blurred. Alongside the pictures, she posts images of the camera that must have been used to achieve each angle.
She quizzes Western on them one by one, asking him if he thinks the photo came from that camera. Western keeps trying to sidestep, saying “maybe”, “hard to tell” and bullshit like that.
Finally, Newhouse stands up and objects to the entire line of questioning. “Mr. Western is a publisher, not a forensic specialist or a geometry teacher! Is counsel also going to start asking him to weigh in on the angle and trajectory of the bullet that killed JFK?”
“I agree, Miss Prasad,” the judge says lazily. “The witness is not here to corroborate the angle of every single photo. I think you need to move on with your questioning.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Nidi still got some ammunition. I hope. Nevertheless, she turns to me as she sets the photos back into her briefcase. As she takes a sip of water, I can see the tightness in her jaw. She’s nervous.
I steal a quick glance at Natalie. Her eyes are locked on Nidi, too. She must see the same thing I do. Her own muscles tense.
My focus goes back to Western, who’s now checking out his fucking manicure while waiting for Nidi to resume questioning.
Like I said, I came in here feeling good about things. But, this son-of-a-bitch is certainly making us work for it.
