The passenger was Marcus. The footage showed him arguing with Sophie, then taking the bottle from her hand and tossing it in the trash. Mr. Reynolds explained that Marcus had been in the car the entire night. After the crash, he drove Sophie home, wiped down the sedan, and called our parents before anyone called the police. The car was registered in my name, because Sophie had used my identity to buy it two years earlier.

When I reached the road that night, looking for Sophie, I found only the wrecked car and the young man lying still. I called emergency services and stayed with him until the ambulance came. The police found me kneeling beside the sedan and arrested me within minutes. My blood test, taken at 2 a.m. and kept sealed in Mr. Reynolds’s file, showed zero alcohol. The signed statement came from the gas station clerk, who remembered Sophie because she paid with a card carrying my name.

Sophie’s wheelchair was the final piece. The hospital records showed a sprained wrist and nothing else, and the doctor who treated her was ready to testify that she had refused to walk out of the building. My mother gasped, then began to sob. Marcus admitted everything before the judge finished asking. My father, silent through the whole hearing, stood and said, “I knew, and I let it happen.” Sophie screamed that she never meant it, but the footage kept playing behind her.

The judge dismissed every charge against me and ordered Sophie and Marcus held for hit-and-run, evidence tampering, and identity fraud. The victim’s mother crossed the room, took my hand, and thanked me for staying with her son. Sophie’s law school admission and internship were revoked, and the university restored my acceptance, with five years of scholarship money. I started classes that autumn. My parents wrote to me for months, and I answered only the one from my father. I never saw Sophie again, but every year I visit the young man’s grave.