“Have you paid foranyportion of your medical expenses?”
“No.”
“Your therapy?”
“No.”
“Your housing? Utilities? Food?”
“No…” I repeated, my voice quieter now.
“So who has paid for these things?” he asked loudly.
I opened my mouth.
Closed it again.
My fingers stilled on the cube.
“I…” I frowned. “I don’t know.”
The attorney’s eyes sharpened. “You don’t know.”
“No,” I said, confusion creeping into my voice. “I didn’t think about it. There’s been so much going on.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“No, sir…”
He let that hang for a moment.
“Isn’t it true,” he said finally, “that Mr. Agbayani—an FBI agent—has been providing for you entirely since you left the Covenant?”
“I-I don’t know where the money comes from,” I said. “He makes sure I’m taken care of. That’s all.”
“Taken care of,” he echoed, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “By the FBI.”
“I don’t think—”
“Isn’t it true,” he interrupted, “that your continued safety, comfort, and access to care depend on the federal government?”
“I don’t know,” I said again, feeling myself beginning to spiral. “I was never told that.”
“But you understand,” he pressed, eyes glinting, “that the government has a vested interest in your testimony.”
“I-I don’t know.”
“What do you think would happen if you didn’t testify as they wished?” he asked. “If your story changed?”
The judge leaned forward. “Counsel…”
“I wouldn’t change it,” I said, louder than I meant to. Myvoice shook, but I didn’t stop. “Because it’s not a story, it’s my life. I-it’s my life, sir.”
The room went still.
The attorney looked at me for a long moment, then gave a small, thoughtful nod.
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
