Chapter 7: Taking The Stand
Judge Holloway called my name next, and the sound seemed to echo off the high plaster ceiling of the courtroom. My legs felt heavy, like I was wading through deep water, as I stood up from the wooden bench and walked toward the witness stand. Leo caught the edge of my sleeve for a second, his hazel eyes wide and questioning, and I gave him a small, reassuring nod before letting go. Arthur offered a silent, encouraging look from the gallery, his calloused hands resting calmly on his knees. I climbed the three small steps to the witness box, took the oath with a hand that barely trembled, and settled into the vinyl chair, facing the sea of watchful eyes in the gallery. Julian Vance sat at the defense table, his expression carefully schooled into one of sorrowful concern, as if he were a devoted father unjustly kept from his beloved son.
Cole approached the witness stand with the slow, predatory grace of a cat stalking a bird. He didn't start with hard questions; instead, he began with a soft, sympathetic tone that felt entirely manufactured. “Ms. Miller,” he began, leaning slightly against the wooden railing, “you were very young when Leo was born, weren't you? Barely nineteen, struggling to make rent, working double shifts at the diner just to keep the lights on.” I gripped the arms of the chair, keeping my voice steady. “I was young, yes. And I worked hard.” Cole nodded slowly, pacing a step to the left. “And during those difficult years, Mr. Vance was building his medical supply company, working seventy-hour weeks, entirely unaware that he had a son because you chose not to inform him.”
The accusation hung in the heavy courtroom air like smoke. I felt my jaw tighten, the anger that I had buried for eight long years suddenly rising hot and sharp in my throat. I looked directly at Cole, refusing to shrink under his gaze. “I didn't choose to hide Leo from him, Mr. Cole. I stood in the lobby of his corporate headquarters for three days straight when Leo was six months old, holding medical bills and a birth certificate, while security guards threatened to throw me out on the street. Your client’s secretary took the envelope, tossed it into a recycling bin before my eyes, and told me that a man of Mr. Vance’s standing didn't have time for gold-digging ghosts from his past.” A quiet murmur rippled through the gallery benches at my words, and Julian’s polished facade cracked for a fraction of a second, his jaw clenching as he glared across the room.
