Chapter 12 - The Crumbling Pedestal
The jury deliberations lasted exactly forty-two minutes,
a staggeringly,
unprecedentedly short amount of time for a trial of this massive,
national magnitude.
I sat on a hard,
wooden bench out in the wide,
echoing corridor of the courthouse,
my head resting gently on my father's broad,
strong shoulder.
He was humming a soft,
old military marching tune,
a habit he had developed decades ago to calm his nerves before a highly dangerous,
classified deployment.
"Forty-two minutes is barely enough time to elect a foreperson and pour a cup of stale,
lukewarm coffee,"
Detective Brenner noted,
walking over to us with two fresh,
steaming cups of tea in her hands.
"They did not debate the evidence,
Beate,
they simply walked in there,
looked at each other in absolute,
shared disgust,
and signed the paperwork."
I took the warm cup from her hand,
the comforting,
herbal scent of chamomile doing little to settle the frantic,
fluttering butterflies in my stomach.
"What if they let him go?"
I whispered,
the irrational,
deeply ingrained fear of his power still haunting the darkest,
most fragile corners of my mind.
My father wrapped his arm around me,
pulling me closer,
his presence a solid,
impenetrable shield against all the lingering,
toxic ghosts of my past.
"The world has seen what he is,
my brave girl,"
Thomas said,
his voice a deep,
resonant rumble that vibrated reassuringly against my cheek.
"Even if a corrupt,
bought-and-paid-for judge tried to let him walk out of these doors,
the public outrage would burn his entire,
worthless empire to the ground before sunset."
The heavy,
oak doors of the courtroom swung open,
and the court bailiff,
a tall,
imposing man with a stern face,
stepped out into the hallway.
"The jury has reached a verdict,"
he announced loudly,
his voice cutting through the quiet,
anxious murmurs of the waiting reporters and legal staff.
We filed back into the courtroom,
taking our designated,
familiar seats as the heavy,
suffocating silence descended upon the room once again.
Gero was brought in through the side door,
his wrists secured by heavy,
shining steel handcuffs,
flanked by two enormous,
unsmiling armed guards.
He looked completely,
utterly broken,
his skin a sickly,
pasty gray,
his once-proud shoulders slumped forward in total,
absolute defeat.
The jury filed into their box,
none of them willing to look in Gero's direction,
their faces set in hard,
unforgiving masks of civic duty and moral outrage.
"Has the jury reached a unanimous,
final verdict?"
the judge asked,
looking down from her elevated,
imposing wooden bench.
The foreperson,
an older,
kind-faced woman who had wept during the video presentation,
stood up,
holding a single,
folded piece of white paper in her trembling hands.
"We have,
Your Honor,"
she replied,
her voice steady,
clear,
and filled with a righteous,
undeniable certainty.
"On the charge of aggravated domestic assault in the first degree,
we find the defendant,
Gero von Stein,
guilty."
Gero let out a sharp,
pathetic gasp,
his knees buckling slightly,
saved from collapsing entirely only by the strong,
rough grip of the guards holding his arms.
"On the charge of reckless endangerment of an unborn child,
we find the defendant,
guilty,"
the foreperson continued,
her voice growing louder,
more confident with every single,
devastating word.
"On the charge of extreme,
premeditated bodily harm,
we find the defendant,
guilty."
With every pronouncement,
a heavy,
invisible chain seemed to fall away from my soul,
shattering on the floor and dissolving into nothingness.
The judge nodded,
accepting the verdict,
her eyes locking onto the trembling,
weeping man standing before her court.
"Mr. von Stein,
your actions represent the absolute,
darkest depths of human cruelty and cowardly,
sadistic abuse of power,"
she stated,
her voice laced with a cold,
unrestrained disgust.
"You used your wealth,
your status,
and your physical strength to terrorize a vulnerable,
pregnant woman who trusted you to love and protect her."
She picked up her gavel,
the wooden handle gleaming under the bright,
harsh lights of the courtroom.
"I am sentencing you to the absolute,
maximum penalty allowed by state law,
twenty-five years in a federal maximum-security penitentiary,
without the possibility of early,
supervised parole."
The gavel slammed down,
the sharp,
crackling sound echoing like a massive,
liberating gunshot in my ears.
Gero broke down completely,
sobbing wildly,
begging for a mercy he had never,
ever shown me,
as the guards dragged him forcefully out of the courtroom.
I watched the heavy doors close behind him,
knowing with absolute,
May you like
joyous certainty that I would never,
ever have to look at his terrifying face again.
