Chapter 7 - The Trial
Six months later, we were in criminal court. The media had picked up the story—"The Socialite and the Scalding Water." The courtroom was packed.
Eleanor sat at the defense table, wearing a modest pastel suit, trying to look like a frail grandmother. She had aged ten years in six months.
I held my breath as Chloe took the stand. Because of her age, she testified via closed-circuit television from a quiet room down the hall, accompanied by a therapy dog. When her sweet, small face appeared on the monitors in the courtroom, the jury visibly softened.
“Can you tell us what happened when you took the cookie, Chloe?” the prosecutor asked gently.
Chloe stroked the golden retriever beside her. She looked into the camera, her voice stronger than it had been on that terrible Sunday. “Nana said I was a thief. Dad brought me to the kitchen. Nana held my arm under the water. It was so hot it felt like fire. Dad just watched and drank his scotch.”
I looked at the jury box. Three of the jurors were crying. Two were glaring at Eleanor with absolute disgust.
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When it was the defense's turn to cross-examine, Vance Sterling was uncharacteristically gentle. He knew that attacking a traumatized child on camera would destroy his case. He simply asked, “Chloe, are you sure your daddy didn't try to help you?”
“No,” Chloe said plainly. “He told me not to be a crybaby.”
