Chapter 6 - The Verdict and SentenceThe jury deliberated for precisely forty-two minutes.
When the heavy oak doors of the jury room opened and the foreperson stepped out holding the sealed verdict forms, the atmosphere inside Courtroom 402 was so tense that no one dared to inhale.
Judge Vance took the paper, reviewed the marks, and looked down at the defense tables.
“Will the defendants please rise for the reading of the verdict,” the judge commanded.
Daniel and Vanessa stood up on trembling legs, flanked by their attorneys. Daniel’s face was paper-white, his teeth chattering uncontrollably, while Vanessa held onto the edge of the table to keep from collapsing.
“On Count One, Attempted Homicide in the First Degree,” the foreperson read clearly into the microphone. “We find the defendant, Daniel Vance... GUILTY.”
A sharp gasp rippled across the gallery.
“On Count One, Attempted Homicide in the First Degree,” the foreperson continued, “We find the defendant, Vanessa Reed... GUILTY.”
“On Count Two, Conspiracy to Commit First-Degree Homicide... GUILTY for both defendants.”
“On Count Three, Possession and Administration of a Class-A Controlled Substance... GUILTY for both defendants.”
Vanessa let out a high-pitched, pathetic shriek, dropping flat onto her knees on the carpeted floor, sobbing hysterically as her defense team tried to pull her up.
Daniel stood completely frozen, his eyes wide, his mouth sagging open in absolute, horror-stricken shock as the reality of a guilty verdict on all counts smashed into his chest.
Judge Vance didn't wait. He leaned forward over his bench, his face carved from cold granite.
“Under the guidelines of this state for premeditated attempted homicide involving chemical incapacitation,” Judge Vance declared cleanly, his voice booming through the room, “I sentence the defendant, Daniel Vance, to THIRTY-FIVE YEARS in a state maximum-security penitentiary without the possibility of parole for twenty-five years.”
BOOM!
“I sentence the defendant, Vanessa Reed, to TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS in a state penitentiary without the possibility of parole for twenty years.”
BOOM!
The heavy wooden gavel struck the sound block, closing the book on their lies forever.
Uniformed court officers moved in instantly, slapping heavy iron shackles around Daniel’s and Vanessa’s wrists and ankles, dragging their crying, broken bodies out through the side holding doors toward the state prison transport vans.
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I sat at the prosecution table, buttoning my suit jacket, taking a slow, deep breath of the clean air, feeling a wave of pure, weightless freedom wash through every corner of my soul.
The quiet wife was dead. The prosecutor had won.
