Judge Judy peered over her glasses. “And what happened, Mr. Grey?”
David’s jaw worked. “Fuel line, Your Honor. Old rubber. I was on the 405, and she just… caught. I pulled over. I’m sorry. I barely got out myself.” judge judy 19
“Judgment for the plaintiff in the amount of seventy-five thousand dollars. But let me tell you something, Mr. Grey. That’s not the number that’s going to haunt you. The number is nineteen. Years of friendship. You can’t get that back from small claims court.” Judge Judy peered over her glasses
The plaintiff, Carla Covington, was forty-two, a high school biology teacher with a tremor in her left hand that hadn't been there a year ago. She clutched a binder of photos—the Mustang’s charred skeleton, its once-cherry-red hood now a black, curled leaf. “Fuel line, Your Honor
“I didn’t—I would never—”
