“ Your Honor!” The prosecutor shot me a look of sympathy. “Relevance?”
“Overruled…Answer the question, Mr. Hamilton.”
I looked away from Kevin and balled my fists. “Yes.”
“Your daughter died amidst the weeks leading up to the complete collapse of your firm, and within those weeks you managed to severely beat your partner, batter your wife—”
“I didn’t batter my fucking wife. She made that shit up. Have you done any fucking research?”
The judge banged his gavel, but I continued talking.
“I’m not sure what low level community college was dumb enough to issue you a law degree, but the case between me and my wife was thrown out years ago because she lied about numerous things to a grand jury. And seeing as though she was sent to prison and I was cleared of all charges, you can accept that as a fucking fact. So, before you ask me another bullshit question and try to damage my character, remember that yourclient’s livelihood is at stake during this trial. Not mine.”
The judge let out a deep sigh, but he didn’t say anything further. He just motioned for the defense to continue.
“During your partnership, is it true that your wife was in charge of all the firm’s monetary dealings?”
“Ex-wife. And yes.”
“And you never thought to double check where she was allocating most of the funds?”
“I had a degree in law, not accounting.”
“So, you never thought it was slightly suspicious that your new firm was bringing in seven figures monthly?”
“No.” I sighed, thinking back to those days, those clients. Everyone we dealt with had far more than I would earn in my lifetime and I thought nothing about the monthly profits Ava reported; I trusted her.
“Is it fair to say that the demise of your firm could be due to your wife’s handling of funding?”
I gritted my teeth. “Yes.”
“Interesting.” He picked up a sheet of paper and asked the judge if he could approach me. “Could you read this to the court please?”
“I’d rather not,” I said.
“You’d rather not?” He laughed. “Mr. Hamilton, as a lawyer yourself, surely you know that you will be held in contempt for refusing to read requested evidence.”
“Read it, Mr. Hamilton.” The judge demanded.
“You’re a fucking liar, Ava.” I read my old words. “You’ve fucked so many people behind my back that I’ve lost count. As far as I’m concerned, you deserve to rot behind bars. Maybe then your overworked pussy will get a much needed break.”
A juror covered her mouth in shock, but I continued reading.
“Thank you for telling me that my cock was never up to par, that after all those years of marriage you were never satisfied…Since you and Kevin have not only managed to take away my firm, but have also ruined the one thing that made my life worth living, accept this letter as a goodbye.” I looked up at the defense.
“Could you also read what you wrote after the PS?”
I rolled my eyes. “Since you’ll only be around women for the next fifteen years, I suggest you give pussy a try. The taste is quite impeccable.”
“Objection, your honor.” The prosecutor stood up. “I don’t see how this document is relevant to the case. The defense also failed to produce that letter during discovery. I move to strike.”
“Sustained. Consider it stricken.” The judge looked at his watch and then stood up. “Let’s adjourn for lunch. Testimony will continue this afternoon.”
As the jury and the courtroom attendees filed out, I sat still. I had nowhere to go.
“I didn’t know he was going to bring up your daughter. I’m so sorry…” The prosecutor offered me a small smile. “I’ll redirect once he gets done…Your partner is definitely going down, he’s just trying to discredit your character a bit, to make him look a little more sympathetic to the jury.”
“You are aware that I’m a lawyer as well, right?” I stepped off the stand. “I know exactly what he’s trying to do.”
I stepped out of the court and outside into a heavy snowfall, looking up at the sky. I considered leaving the courthouse and risking contempt, but a part of me wanted to help seal the deal on Kevin’s fate.
It’d been a long time coming—all the lies, the betrayal, the pain, and he deserved whatever he was going to get.
Someone tapped my shoulder from behind.
“You got a minute?” A familiar voice asked. Kevin.
“I don’t.”
“I figured…” He sighed. “Whatever happens at the end of this trial—”
“Did you not hear what I said?” I spun around to face him, taken aback by how haggard he looked up close. Time hadn’t been good to him at all.
“I’m sorry for everything me and Ava put you through,” he said with a genuine look in his eyes. “The money and clients were coming in so fast and we were all so young…”
“Young?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Young and dumb, you know? It was—”
“Dumb as fuck.” I clenched my jaw. “But it was more than stupidity, Kevin. It was greed. And when the newspapers started to put the pieces together, when the clients started demanding answers, you both turned on me. You blamed me…You filed for custody of Emma, knowing damn well you didn’t really want her. You just wanted to hurt me since you were her biological father.”
“Liam…”
“And you did.” I could honestly admit that once and for all. “You really fucking did…”
“If I could take it back—”
“You can’t.” I cut him off. “But you can tell me one thing…”
“What is it?”
“The night you ruined my life…Well, not the first night, the night that came months later, were you drinking?”
“What does it matter now?”
“Were you fucking drinking that night?” I glared at him and he sighed, looking down at the ground.
“Yes…”
“Thank you for finally being honest.” I scoffed. “I’ll sleep even easier at night knowing that you’ll be joining Ava behind bars after this week.”
“Ava’s back in prison?” He looked hurt, disappointed.
“Nine more years.” I smiled, but it quickly faded. “Six more than what Emma got.”
I didn’t give him a chance to respond. My heart was clenching at the thought of losing Emma again, at imagining all the pain she must’ve felt on her last day, so I shut my eyes—trying to block another dark memory from passing by.
Reasonable Doubt (n.):
Not being sure of a criminal defendant's guilt to a moral certainty.
Six years ago…
Liam Henderson
Living in New York never felt ordinary. Every day there was something new to discover, something I’d never seen before.
Even though I was still running on the fumes of winning one of the biggest, yet non-reported cases in the state, I was still trying to find myself—personally and professionally. I was realizing that national popularity would always elude me, but as long as I was under-rated and not over-rated, I was perfectly fine with that.
I dropped a book of essays on my coffee table once I heard a loud knock at the door. It was a familiar loud and annoying one that my best friend Kevin always used.
“You know, you can’t keep coming over in the middle of the—” I stopped talking when I realized it wasn’t Kevin. It was a woman and a man, dressed in grey suits.
“Are you Liam Andrew Henderson?” The woman asked.
“Who’s asking?”
“Are you Liam Andrew Henderson?” The man spoke sternly.
“Depends on who wants to know.”
They both blinked.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m Liam Henderson.”
“You’ve been served.” The woman thrust a thick blue envelope into my hand, the tenth time this had happened to me this week.
“Is this some type of joke? Is the New York Timestrying to get a rise out of me again?”
They exchanged glances, confused.
“I was just doing my job,” I said. “If they want to continue their pettiness by refusing to print my picture for the rest of their paper’s life, that’s fine. I’m okay with that, really. But serving me papers as a prank every day for a week and a half—”