Page 124 of Matlock
“That woman gives me the creeps,” my mother muttered.
Tony reappeared at my side, his briefcase in hand. “It’s time,” he said quietly.
I nodded and followed him toward the courtroom doors. My parents fell in behind us, along with the others. The gallery was already beginning to fill with curious spectators, reporters, and people who’d come to watch the trial unfold.
Tony and I entered the courtroom and made our way to the defense table. I sat down in the chair that had become familiar over the past weeks, and Tony took the seat beside me. He set his briefcase on the table and arranged his files with methodical precision. He still wasn’t looking at me.
The gallery continued to fill. I could hear the murmur of voices, the shuffle of feet, the scrape of chairs. My parents sat directly behind us, and I could feel my mother’s eyes on the back of my head, offering silent support.
The bailiff stood. “All rise. The Honorable Judge Alexander Markham presiding.”
Everyone stood as Uncle Alex entered from his chambers. He was wearing his black robe, his expression grave and judicial. He took his seat at the bench and surveyed the courtroom with a measured gaze.
“Be seated,” Uncle Alex announced.
We all sat down. The courtroom settled into an expectant silence. This was it. This was the moment everything had been building toward.
Uncle Alex looked at the gallery, then at the prosecution table where Rosalind sat with her files organized before her, then at our defense table where Tony and I sat in careful silence.
“We’re ready to proceed,” he said, his voice carrying theweight of authority. “Bailiff, bring in the jury.”
The jury filed in, twelve men and women who held my fate in their hands. They took their seats in the jury box, and I felt Tony shift slightly beside me. His hand was resting on the table, just inches from mine, but it might as well have been miles away.
This was it. The end of trial was about to begin in earnest, and I had no idea if Tony and I would survive it.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Matlock
Judge Markham didn’t speak immediately. He sat at the bench, his hands folded before him, his gaze sweeping across the courtroom with the kind of deliberate patience that made everyone shift uncomfortably in their seats. The jury was seated. The gallery was packed. Rosalind sat at the prosecution table, her spine rigid.
And Simon sat beside me, his hands clasped so tightly in his lap that his knuckles had gone white.
I could feel the tension radiating off him. Could feel the way his breath hitched every few seconds, like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. I wanted to reach over and cover his hands with mine. Wanted to tell him it was going to be okay.
But I couldn’t.
Not here. Not in front of everyone.
So instead, I sat perfectly still, my expression neutral, my hands resting on the table in front of me. Professional. Detached. Everything I’d trained myself to be.
Judge Markham finally spoke.
“Before we proceed,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the silent courtroom, “I want to address something that has weighed heavily on my mind throughout this trial.”
I felt Simon tense beside me. Felt the way his breath caught.
“This case,” Judge Markham continued, “has forced all of us to confront some uncomfortable truths. About family. About protection. About the law. And about the responsibilities we have to one another as members of a community.”
He paused, letting his words settle over the room like aheavy blanket.
“The law,” he said slowly, “exists to protect us. To provide structure and order. To ensure that justice is served when harm is done. But the law is not infallible. It is not omniscient. It cannot see into every home, every relationship, every moment of suffering that happens behind closed doors.”
I watched him carefully, my mind racing.Where is he going with this?
“That is why,” Judge Markham said, his gaze sweeping across the gallery, “we rely on each other. On neighbors. On friends, family, and coworkers. On the people who see what we cannot see, who know what we cannot know.”
His voice hardened slightly.
