Chapter 9 - The Courtroom Massacre
Six months later, the federal courtroom was packed with reporters. The "Sterling Syndicate" trial was the media event of the decade.
Julian, nursing a permanently limp wrist, sat at the defense table in a cheap suit, looking like a hollow shell of a man. Preston sat at the opposite table, having turned state's evidence. Eleanor was seated behind them, her face pale, devoid of makeup or diamonds.
The prosecution was merciless.
They played the hospital recording of Eleanor threatening a military officer. They presented the financial ledgers. And finally, they called Chloe to the stand.
My daughter, the girl they had abused, locked away, and called insane, took the oath. She didn't shake. She didn't cry. She looked at the jury and detailed every threat, every bruise, and every piece of evidence she had gathered while living in a golden cage.
When Julian’s lawyer tried to cross-examine her, asking if she was just a "disgruntled ex-wife," Chloe smiled.
May you like
"I am not disgruntled, counselor," Chloe said clearly. "I am liberated. And your client isn't a mastermind. He's just a bully who got caught."
The jury deliberated for less than four hours.
