Chapter 11 - The Trial of Adrian Vance
Six months later, the courtroom was packed with journalists.
Adrian looked hollowed out, his expensive haircut grown out, his skin gray.
He wouldn’t look at me as I took the witness stand.
“Mrs. Vance,” the prosecutor began gently. “Can you confirm how many times you called your husband on the night of your daughter’s death?”
“Seventeen times,” I answered, my voice carrying clearly across the silent room.
“And did he answer?”
“No.”
“Do you know where he was?”
“He was at a gala, drinking champagne with his mistress,” I said, looking directly at the jury.
Adrian buried his face in his hands.
“And when you confronted him later, what did he say?”
I took a deep breath, letting the memory of the cold fountain wash over me.
“He told me the bill was paid. He told me to stop bothering him.”
A collective gasp rippled through the gallery.
The jury stared at Adrian with absolute, unmasked disgust.
The defense didn’t even try to cross-examine me.
When the verdict was read two days later, Adrian stood up, trembling.
“Guilty on all counts,” the foreman announced.
As the bailiffs clamped the handcuffs on his wrists, Adrian finally looked back at me.
May you like
His eyes were filled with terror and regret.
I didn’t smile. I just turned and walked out the double doors.
