Chapter 9 - The Trial Begins
The county courthouse was a massive, imposing building that smelled of polished wood and stale coffee. Reporters had picked up on the story—a wealthy stepmother paralyzing her stepdaughter over a trust fund was prime local news fodder. We had to push through a throng of cameras just to get through the metal detectors.
When Dad and I walked into the courtroom, the air felt suffocating. I took my seat in the front row of the gallery, gripping my cane.
Then, the side door opened, and a bailiff escorted Evelyn in.
She looked entirely different. The expensive blonde highlights had grown out into dull, graying roots. The designer clothes were replaced by an ill-fitting, standard-issue county jumpsuit. But her eyes were exactly the same—cold, arrogant, and flashing with venom when they locked onto me.
She whispered something to her defense attorney, a slick-looking man who merely nodded.
The judge banged his gavel, calling the court to order. Ms. Davis stood up for her opening statement. She painted a chilling, accurate picture of a desperate woman drowning in debt, willing to sacrifice a teenager’s spine for a payday. She played the agonizing audio of the 911 dispatch—the open line capturing the sounds of Dad yelling in panic and Evelyn coldly telling him to leave me on the floor.
The jury visibly flinched.
Then it was the defense’s turn. Evelyn’s lawyer strutted to the podium.
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"Ladies and gentlemen, this case is not about assault. It’s about a tragic accident blown wildly out of proportion by a vindictive ex-husband and an entitled teenager," the lawyer proclaimed. "Evelyn Vance simply moved a chair. The plaintiff, prone to dramatic outbursts, lost her balance. The rest is a carefully constructed lie to ruin my client."
I felt Dad tense beside me. I reached over and squeezed his hand. Let them talk. The evidence was going to bury her.
