Chapter 17 - THE TRIAL
The criminal case took fourteen months to reach trial.
By then, my ribs had healed.
My wrist had healed.
The scar beneath my lip had faded.
Some things healed slower.
I sold the villa.
I could not look at the balcony without remembering the sky turning upside down.
I moved into Dad’s old house.
For the first few months, I hated being there.
Then I began opening windows.
Changing furniture.
Cooking in his kitchen.
Living where death had once frozen everything.
Brandon pleaded guilty before trial to financial crimes, insurance fraud, obstruction, and aggravated assault connected to my fall.
His cooperation reduced his sentence.
Not enough to make him free.
Enough to make Margaret hate him.
Margaret went to trial on everything.
Financial conspiracy.
Fraud.
Forgery.
Attempted insurance scheme.
Conspiracy connected to my fall.
And charges related to Dad’s death.
I testified for two days.
Her attorney tried to make me emotional.
“Mrs. Carter, you hated my client before your fall, correct?”
“No.”
“You blamed her for your marriage problems?”
“No.”
“You investigated her secretly?”
“I investigated missing money.”
“You recorded private conversations.”
“Yes.”
“Without telling her?”
“That is generally how recording evidence works.”
The prosecutor almost smiled.
Margaret did not.
Then they played the office recording.
Accidents happen.
They showed the balcony footage.
Margaret loosening the bolts.
They displayed the insurance policies.
The forged signatures.
The money.
Dad’s medication.
Mercer testified.
Rebecca testified.
Dana testified.
Brandon testified last.
When he entered the courtroom, Margaret stared at him.
He looked older.
He would not look at me.
The prosecutor asked.
“Why did you push your wife?”
Brandon’s voice was barely audible.
“Because she had evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“Proof of everything.”
“Did you intend for her to die?”
Brandon closed his eyes.
“I didn’t think past making the evidence disappear.”
The prosecutor waited.
“Did you know death was a possible result of pushing a person from a second-floor balcony?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you pushed her.”
“Yes.”
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Margaret looked away.
For the first time, her son had stopped protecting the family story.
