Chapter 7 - The Arraignment Room
The courtroom was stuffy, smelling of old paper, floor wax, and the quiet desperation of everyone waiting for a judge to rewrite their lives. I sat in the second-row gallery, keeping my posture straight and my hands folded neatly over my briefcase.
Across the aisle, my father sat flanked by Harrison, our family attorney. Dad looked ten years older than he had twenty-four hours ago; the rich color of his face was washed out by stress and humiliated fury. When he caught sight of me sitting alone in the gallery, his eyes flared with a lethal, burning hatred that he didn't even attempt to hide. He whispered something fiercely into Harrison’s ear.
The bailiff’s voice boomed through the room. "All rise for the Honorable Judge Marcus Vance."
Lucas was led through the side door in a standard orange jumpsuit, his hair uncombed, his usual cocky swagger replaced by a hunted, hollow-eyed slouch. He scanned the gallery, locking eyes with our father first, then finding me. His expression twisted into a silent, pleading panic. He mouthed my name, gesturing frantically with his cuffed wrists.
I looked right through him as if he were made of glass.
The proceedings moved with cold, mechanical efficiency. The district attorney’s office laid out the charges clearly: grand larceny of a motor vehicle, unauthorized use of a conveyance, and felony forgery of a legal instrument coupled with identity theft.
Harrison stood up, adjusting his tie with practiced poise, and addressed the bench. "Your Honor, the defense moves for dismissal on the grounds of a severe domestic misunderstanding. This is a family dispute blown wildly out of proportion by an estranged sibling—"
"A family dispute does not involve forging a notarized vehicle transfer document and committing identity theft on a recorded line, Mr. Harrison," the judge interrupted, his voice dry and unimpressed as he glanced down at the case file. "The state has presented a signed confession on a recorded law enforcement line. Bail is set at fifty thousand dollars cash or surety."
My father let out an audible gasp, half-rising from his seat before Harrison violently yanked him back down by his coat sleeve.
"Fifty thousand?!" Lucas blurted out from the defense table, his voice cracking. "Your Honor, my wife is nine months pregnant, I have a job—"
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"You should have thought about your family before you stole a vehicle and lied to an officer," the judge cut him off sharply, banging his gavel. "Next case."
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