The Millionaire’s Daughter Raised Her Phone in Court… and the Judge Turned White Before He Could Send You to Prison

“I need to say something,” she says.

A ripple moves through the room. The judge blinks down at her, already irritated. “This is not an appropriate time,” he says sharply. “Sit down.”

Alma does not sit.

Valentina turns in her seat so quickly the silk of her dress snaps softly against the chair. “Alma,” she says, with the smiling warning voice wealthy mothers reserve for public settings, “this is adult business.”

You know that voice.