Chapter 48
Ilove Lori to pieces, but I really want to throttle her for asking if I’m pregnant when a) I’m not telling her before Reese, therefore I now have to try to make her forget this topic without lying to her and b) Reese is about to begin one of the biggest cases of his career in a few seconds.
“Forget I asked that,” she whispers, pulling out a notepad as I ready my own. “That was silly,” she adds. “You two have a plan and it doesn’t include getting pregnant right now during this trial.” Reese walks to the center of the courtroom and she squeezes my arm. “I can’t wait to watch Reese in action. I’m so glad I’m between cases.”
Relief washes over me at her backtrack, but we’re also working on a book together that I think I need to push back our efforts until after I tell Reese. Lori knows me too well. If we spend time together, she’ll figure out what’s going on. For now though, I focus on the prosecutor, a man named Milton Wicker, who Reese has gone head-to-head with before and beat. Milton, like everyone, wanted to dethrone Reese and break his winning record, and save his pride from losing once before, and lost. So we can all bet he has vengeance in his sight this time around. Tall and good looking enough, I guess, he’s mid-thirties, with dark-rimmed glasses and sandy brown hair. He begins his opening statement:
“Today we are here because, in the defendant’s own words, she wished her father was dead and she followed through to make that wish come true. The defense will tell you that dreams don’t always come true, but for the defendant they did. Facts are facts. Dana Warren wished her father dead and now he’s dead. Do you know what that means for her? Five hundred million dollars. She is set to inherit five hundred million dollars. That’s an astounding sum of money, isn’t it? And what did it take for Dana Warren to inherit that money? One bullet. Who else benefited from Nelson Warren’s murder? No one. No one else inherits. No wife, girlfriend, non-existent sibling. No one. Not even a charity. I’m not going to feed you a laundry list of reasons she did this when you already have five hundred million reasons and a phone call where she wished her father dead.”
His opening is that fast and over, leaving me certain that he doesn’t have evidence to prove his case that we don’t yet know about. He’s grandstanding. “He’s putting on a show,” Lori whispers, as if reading my thoughts, “and not a good one.”
We hope, I think, despite my more confident thought a moment before. We never know how a jury will respond in a trial, but then Reese stands up, and my nerves fade. This is Reese’s wheelhouse. He’s a master. He will win over the jury and I can’t wait to watch him work. I poise my pen over my notepad, ready to take notes, irritated that I haven’t yet evaluated the jury. In all cases I follow, I like to see them in all phases of the trial from beginning to end. I like to read their state of minds before and after each opening. I quickly take as many notes as possible and then Reese begins:
“First I want to thank each and every member of the jury, and of course our honorable judge, for taking the journey to justice with me. I’m proud of being a part of a court system that ensures innocence until you are proven guilty. I, for one, find comfort in knowing that I’m protected. No one, not even the press, can convict me of a crime. They can demonize me. They can humiliate me. But they cannot take my freedom. Or can they? Those things in today’s media outlets become prisons in ways that you cannot escape. No matter what your ruling, the press will say it’s wrong. No matter what your ruling, the press will assume they know what you do not even though you are right here in this courtroom. No matter what your ruling, my client is already guilty because the press says so and the prosecution has made it clear by charging that they believe she is guilty. It’s a scary thing to sit in a chair and hear a guilty plea be read with no evidence. It makes you fear that you could be next. It makes you fear that if the wrong people were against you, you could go down for something you didn’t do. That’s where a jury comes in, where you come in. No matter how much you like or dislike the person being charged, you rule based on facts. If you have any doubt that the person is guilty you legally must rule them not guilty. That’s reasonable doubt. If I give you reason to doubt guilt, the ruling is not guilty. If the prosecutor tells you the defendant is guilty, they must prove that guilt with evidence, not words.”
“That comes back to me. I don’t defend guilty people. Ever. We’ve all heard the phone call that was leaked. My client sounded angry and that anger had people asking me if I regretted my choice to represent her. My answer was and is no. Her father was a brutal man with many enemies. She was angry, hurt, scared. She was human. She wanted to walk away from everything just to escape. This is not an escape. My client didn’t think she could shoot her father and inherit. Her father was vicious to her and everyone around him. He destroyed people and laughed about it. She might have wished him dead but you’ll learn during this trial, that so did a long list of other people.”
“I’m asking you today to remember your responsibility to assume innocence and make the prosecution prove guilt. My client inheriting her father’s fortune does not make her his killer. The list of suspects, of those people I just mentioned that wanted her father, the victim, dead, is excessively long and completely ignored by the prosecutor. The prosecutor’s office wanted an easy win, not justice. Therefore, they decided you, the jury, would be so small minded, so ignorant, that you would put someone in jail for no reason other than she inherited money. They picked the person the public would prosecute rather than doing their job, finding the real killer, and coming to court with evidence. Why? Because if the press and public prosecute my client, then it puts pressure on you to follow. But the press and the public won’t see the facts and evidence. That’s your honor and responsibility. To see the evidence and rule on the evidence. Your responsibility is to rule not guilty if you have reasonable doubt. Your responsibility is to rule guilty if the prosecution proves without a shadow of a doubt that my client killed her father. That means they must provide evidence, not assumption. None of us want to live in a country where we can be accused and convicted without proof. Make the prosecution live in America with us. I have confidence in you to make the right decision. The prosecutor brought this case because he has confidence that you don’t care about our country, our laws, and real evidence.”
Reese closes his opening statement, and I breathe out. He did well. The jury responded well. They didn’t like the idea that they were being looked at as stupid by the prosecutor. “That was brilliant,” Lori whispers.
Reese walks back to his table and his eyes find mine the way they always do, and I give him a tiny nod of approval. I let him know that he was received well. He sits down, and the prosecutor calls for a recess. At this point, it manages to get to eleven o’clock and court is adjourned until one o’clock. “I need to go to the office,” Lori says. “I have a case I may end up taking that just had activity.” She turns to face me as the crowd begins to disperse. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”
“I’m good,” I say. “It’s passing.”
She hugs me. “Love you. I’ll be back this afternoon if I can. Tell Reese, aside from Cole, he’s my idol.”
“Says the brilliant attorney herself,” I comment.
“Not as brilliant as your husband, or mine, but I’ll get there. Walk out with me?”
I nod and the two of us make our way out of the courtroom, and the crush of the crowd that normally doesn’t bother me, bothers me now. I feel like I’m suffocating. It’s with relief that I exit the courthouse, through the safe side door, and Lori hurries away. With my computer in my backpack and the crowd focused on the front of the courthouse, I dart down the sidewalk that leads to the park where Reese always escapes for his lucky hot dog during trials. I assume he will decompress with his team for a few minutes before joining me, so I decide to write in today’s baby journal.
I pass the food truck that provides those lucky hot dogs, and sit on a park bench, powering up my MacBook to begin typing, this time to Reese: Every moment I’m with you, I want to tell you that I’m pregnant. I wonder if I look different, if I feel different, and yes, I even wondered if I tasted different this morning. I know that is silly, but I really did have that thought and I’ll let you use your imagination to determine when I had that thought. When I was throwing up, I smiled. I know that sounds crazy, but I read that sickness means the baby is healthy. My God, Reese, this is killing me. I want to tell you so badly, but you have so much on you and what if you were worried about me when you had to give that opening statement today? I don’t know when to tell you. I love you so much and I want to support you and I see how much pressure you feel to win. I see how much your client needs you to win. What if you worry about picketers, and press, and a million other things that might make me miscarry and it changes how you try this case? I don’t know what to do but to keep writing what I feel and praying that you feel I made these decisions for the right reasons: love.
I love you.
It’s right then that a wave of sickness overtakes me. I shut my computer and my eyes, and will it away. “Cat.”
I blink and Reese is on his knee in front of me. I lean forward and press my hands to his cheeks. “You were brilliant.”
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I’m good. I’ve been good since the minute some asshole cut in line in a coffee shop and changed my life.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”