Chapter 8 - The Price of Pride
The jury deliberated for less than four hours.
When the foreperson stood up to read the verdicts, the silence in the courtroom was so heavy you could hear the ticking of the wall clock.
"On the count of attempted first-degree murder, we find the defendant, Patricia Miller, Guilty."
"On the count of felony child abuse and corporate complicity in a violent crime, we find the defendant, Robert Miller, Guilty."
Guilty on all counts. Aggravated assault, conspiracy, child endangerment. The judge, a stern woman with no tolerance for aristocratic arrogance, didn't hold back during sentencing.
"Wealth and social standing often blind individuals to the basic tenets of human decency," the judge said, looking down at my parents from the bench. "But what you two executed was an act of monstrous, unfathomable cruelty against an innocent child entrusted to your care. You used your privilege as a weapon to disfigure a six-year-old girl simply to soothe your own pathetic, narcissistic vanity."
Patricia Miller was sentenced to twenty-five years in a maximum-security state prison without the possibility of parole. Robert Miller was sentenced to fifteen years for his role in planning, executing, and attempting to cover up the crime.
As the bailiffs stepped forward to handcuff them, my mother finally lost her icy composure. She began to scream, her voice cracking into an ugly, desperate shriek as the cold steel ratcheted around her manicured wrists.
"You ruined this family, Emily!" she screamed, her face twisting into a hideous mask of rage. "You were always a disappointment! You and that pathetic little—"
The bailiffs roughly dragged her through the side door, cutting off her words.
May you like
David and I stood in the hallway outside the courtroom. He looked at me, a sad but relieved smile on his face. "It's over, Em. They're never coming back."
I hugged my brother tightly. "Thank you for doing the right thing, David."
