Chapter 9 - The Trial of the Century
Three months later, the federal court in downtown Chicago was packed to maximum capacity.
Julian Almeida sat at the defense table in a orange prison jumpsuit, his hands handcuffed to a heavy leather belt around his waist. Dr. Evans sat beside him, wearing a neck brace and looking utterly defeated.
On the witness stand sat six-year-old Samuel Carter.
He was wearing a tiny navy blazer and a red clip-on bow tie. He sat on two thick telephone books so his chin could reach the microphone.
The defense attorney stood up, trying to look intimidating as he approached the witness stand.
"Little boy," the defense attorney said smugly. "You are only six years old. Are you telling this jury that you knew Dr. Evans was poisoning Mr. Almeida simply because of a... smell?"
Samuel looked at the lawyer with calm, untroubled eyes.
"My daddy was an engineer," Samuel said clearly into the microphone. "He taught me that if something smells like weed killer, you shouldn't drink it. Grown-ups think kids don't pay attention, but we do."
A wave of quiet laughter swept through the jury box.
"And what about the East Wing?" the attorney pressed. "Did someone tell you to go to that locked door?"
"No," Samuel answered softly. "Every night when Mommy put me to bed, I could hear someone weeping. Nobody listened because they were afraid of losing their jobs. But my mom told me that when someone is crying, you don't walk past them."
The lead juror—an elderly woman with grey hair—wiped a tear from her eye.
State Prosecutor Helen Vance stood up. "No further questions, Your Honor."
The jury deliberated for less than forty-five minutes.
When the verdict was read, Julian Almeida was found guilty on all counts: attempted murder, kidnapping, corporate fraud, and conspiracy to commit murder in the death of David Carter. He was sentenced to two consecutive life terms without the possibility of parole.
As the bailiffs led Julian away in chains, he looked back at Thiago one last time.
May you like
Thiago stood upright in the front row of the gallery, resting lightly on his cane, holding Isabella’s hand on his right, and my hand on his left.
Julian didn't see a broken, paralyzed victim anymore. He saw a family that could never be destroyed again.
