Verdict – James （Back before I changed it to my father’s name in college…）
VERDICT
THE DECISION OF A JURY AFTER A TRIAL, WHICH MUST BE ACCEPTED BY THE TRIAL JUDGE TO BE FINAL.
JAMES (BACK BEFORE I CHANGED IT TO MY FATHER’S NAME IN COLLEGE…)
Twenty-Eight Years Ago
Bright blue and white lights shone through my blinds on a Saturday morning.
“Jameson Tate!” someone shouted from outside. “This is the Pittsburgh Police Department. Step outside the house with your hands up!”
What the…
I rolled over in bed and looked out the window.
Confused, I wiped my eyes, certain I was still dreaming.
“Dad?” I called out. “Dad, what are they doing?”
He didn’t answer me. Instead, he stepped outside with his hands raised above his head.
Within seconds, the police were tackling him to the ground.
“Jameson Tate, you’re under arrest for the first-degree murder of Tom Raider.”
My jaw dropped as they dragged him into the back of a town car.
“Tom Raider?” My mother was suddenly behind me, crying hysterically. “Like our next-door neighbor, Tom Raider? Is that what they said?”
I could only nod and watch until the cop cars disappeared.
“Don’t worry about this, son.” My dad winked at me from behind a glass panel days later. “This is all a big misunderstanding, and it’ll be cleared up in no time.”
“What does no bond mean, Dad?” I asked.
“It means I can’t come home until the jury says I didn’t kill Mr. Raider.” He looked like he was holding back tears. “I promise I didn’t kill him.”
“Okay.” I could only nod. “But they’ll let you out for the holidays, right?”
He didn’t answer that.
“Time will work all this out, son,” he said. “I guarantee it.”
My dad had never lied to me, and he’d kept every promise he’d ever made, but this time?
This time I could see fear in his irises, like he wasn’t so certain about how long “no time” would be.
“Make sure your mother doesn’t cry too much, huh?” He squeezed my hand. “You’ll do that for me?”
“I will, Dad. Promise.”
Eight Months Later
“The justice system moves at a snail’s pace, James.” My mother frowned at me. “Every lawyer has told us that, so we just have to wait and keep living our lives until your father’s trial comes.”
Hearing the word “wait” leave her lips was a cruel joke.
She had yet to admit it, but she was already moving on from my dad.
I’d overheard her whispering to her friends at night about being “so ashamed” of “marrying a man capable of murder,” “a man who would off a good guy like Mr. Raider,” and she was going on nightly dates with his so-called best friend, Dan.
As she hummed to herself, I slipped into my bedroom and pulled out the card for my dad’s lawyer.
Peter Hansel
I dialed his number.
“Peter Hansel speaking,” he answered on the first ring.
“Where are you on my dad’s case?” I didn’t have time for small talk.
“Oh gosh.” He sighed. “Look, Jay—”
“My name is James,” I said. “I tell you that every time…”
“Sorry, James.” He cleared his throat. “But look. I’m a public defender.”
“And?” I shrugged. “That means you’re still a lawyer, right?”
“Yes, with a ton of clients and little money for expenses for every client,” he said. “Your father’s best bet is to plead guilty to this and accept the plea deal.”
“Twenty-five plus years for something he didn’t do?”
“Well…” He sighed. “Yes. But he’ll still be out in time for your late-in-life milestones. If he goes to trial, he could get twenty-five years to life…”
“But he didn’t do it,” I said. “I can prove it.”
“I’ll do my best to show that he didn’t if this goes to trial,” he said. “I’ve got to go, okay? I’ve got another case.”
He hung up before I could say another word.
I watched Mr. Hansel from afar, sat in the back of courtrooms for three of his other cases, and every jury handed him back-to-back guilty verdicts.
I was convinced they gave it to him for his lack of preparation and sloppy suits alone.
By the time it was my father’s trial, his demeanor was no better…
He mispronounced my father’s name plenty of times, declined to cross-examine half of the so-called “expert” witnesses, and his closing argument was a joke.
The jury came back with its verdict after ninety minutes.
Guilty of first degree murder.
Life in prison without parole was all but guaranteed at his sentencing.
My dreams of becoming a thriller writer vanished in the months that followed. With every phone call from his prison cell, every “Don’t lose the faith, son—I have plenty of appeals,” my hopes of seeing him in person again dwindled.
Not to mention the fact that every public lawyer he used for each appeal was somehow worse than the last.
And to make matters worse, his previous lawyer was on a speaking circuit about the case and was getting national attention for saying, “Even the most despicable murderers deserve good representation, and my nine hundredth and sixty-seventh client was no different.”
I buried myself in schoolwork and graduated high school a year and a half early. There was no point in making time for prom, graduation, or any other senior-year milestones without my father in the picture.
Several colleges bribed me to attend with scholarship offers, but I chose the University of Pittsburgh. It was close enough to visit my father at least twice a month, and it would bring me one step closer to my ultimate goal: representing him myself.
Law school carried me away to Boston for Harvard, but I continued visiting him, assuring him that I would fight like hell to get his freedom back.
To the very few who knew—okay, just Rachel and Damien Carter—it was honorable, and they often said they “couldn’t fathom” going that hard for any client.
Although they never said it, the evidence against him was overwhelming, but they never said, “Jameson, it’s obvious he did it.”
Which honestly wouldn’t have bothered me because I know that’s exactly how overwhelming the evidence looked to the jury.
But my father was one hundred percent innocent.
And I knew that down to my marrow.
Because I fucking did it…
End of Episode 2