Chapter 6 - The Scales of Justice
The courtroom was packed to the gills. Flashbulbs popped outside the courthouse steps as media vans clustered like vultures around the entrance, drawn by the sensational details of a suburban father attempting to murder his own daughter to cover up financial fraud and property theft.
I sat in the second row, flanked by two plainclothes officers Reynolds had assigned for my protection. Across the aisle, sitting in the defendant’s box in a coarse orange jumpsuit, was Andrew. He looked smaller now, his tailored shirts replaced by institutional cotton, his hair unstyled and dull. He refused to look in my direction, keeping his eyes glued to the defense attorney who was frantically flipping through legal briefs.
Judge Evelyn Vance presided over the hearing, her expression like carved granite. She had zero tolerance for violent domestic crimes, and as she read through the police affidavits, medical reports, and the forensic document analysis confirming the forged power of attorney, the temperature in the room dropped noticeably.
"The charges before this court," Judge Vance announced, her voice echoing off the high mahogany ceilings, "include attempted second-degree murder, child abuse resulting in great bodily injury, grand larceny, and felony forgery."
Andrew's defense attorney stood up, stammering about bail provisions and mental stress stemming from economic pressures. "Your Honor, my client is a first-time offender with deep ties to the community—"
"Quiet, counselor," Judge Vance interrupted sharply, her gavel coming down with a crack that made several spectators jump. "We are discussing the deliberate endangerment and attempted murder of a ten-year-old child by her own parent, compounded by calculated financial predation. Ties to the community do not apply when the community is what the defendant was systematically robbing and destroying."
She looked directly across the room at Andrew. "Bail is denied. The defendant will be remanded to state custody without the possibility of release pending trial. This court finds him an extreme danger to society and a severe flight risk."
A collective murmur rippled through the gallery. Andrew slumped forward in his chair, burying his face in his cuffed hands as the bailiff stepped behind him to escort him back down to holding.
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As he was led past my row, he briefly raised his head. His eyes met mine, wide and pleading, mouthing a silent Amanda, please...
I did not blink. I did not move a muscle. I simply looked back at him with total, absolute indifference. The man I had shared a bed with for eight years was gone, replaced by a stranger who meant nothing more than a closed chapter in a bad book.
