Chapter 8 - The Verdict
The jury deliberated for less than three hours.
When the courtroom doors opened at four o'clock on Thursday afternoon, the air was electric with tension. Two dozen police officers stood along the walls as Judge Harrison—who had been forced to recuse himself from the criminal trial due to his conflict of interest, replaced by Federal Judge Eleanor Vance—took the bench.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Judge Vance asked.
The jury foreperson, a stern-faced woman in her fifties, stood up. “We have, Your Honor.”
She handed the paper slip to the bailiff, who passed it to the judge. Judge Vance read the paper silently, her expression unreadable, before handing it back.
“Will the defendants please stand,” Judge Vance ordered.
Aaron and Sylvia stood up. Sylvia was clutching her lawyer’s sleeve so hard her knuckles were white. Aaron stood rigid, staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight.
“On count one, Attempted Pre-Natal Homicide: How do you find?”
“Guilty,” the foreperson read.
Sylvia let out a strangled gasp, collapsing back into her chair.
“On count two, Aggravated Medical Assault with a Deadly Device: How do you find?”
“Guilty.”
“On count three, Illegal Human Experimentation and Controlled Substance Trafficking: How do you find?”
“Guilty.”
“On count four, Conspiracy to Commit Deprivation of Rights Under Color of Law: How do you find?”
“Guilty.”
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
The word repeated sixteen times across all counts for both defendants.
The gallery erupted into cheers and applause. Reporters scrambled out the back doors to file their stories.
Judge Vance struck her heavy wooden gavel three times, restoring order to the room. She looked down at Aaron and Sylvia with cold disgust.
“Aaron Mitchell,” Judge Vance said, her voice echoing through the chamber. “You used your position as a physician—a profession dedicated to the preservation of life—to commit acts of monstrous cruelty against your own wife and unborn child. You are hereby sentenced to forty-five years in federal state penitentiary without the possibility of parole.”
Aaron didn't speak. He didn't move. He stood like a stone statue as the federal marshals stepped forward and slapped heavy leg irons around his ankles.
“Sylvia Mitchell,” the judge continued, turning her eyes to the crying woman. “You abused your position as a mother and a former regulatory executive to facilitate the poisoning of your own grandchild. You are hereby sentenced to thirty years in federal custody.”
As the marshals led them out through the side door, Aaron finally turned his head to look at me one last time.
I didn't look away. I didn't hide behind my lawyer. I stood tall, resting both hands over my belly, watching him step into the dark holding cell where he would spend the rest of his life.
The door slammed shut.
May you like
The lock turned.
The nightmare was over.
