In the hallway, the press had arrived. Rumors were flying. The judge stood up. A kid brought evidence. The prosecutor is throwing up in the bathroom.
Darius sat at the defense table, holding Hope’s hand. He didn’t care about the prison time anymore. He looked at his daughter with a reverence usually reserved for saints.
“I just wanted you to come home,” she said, swinging her legs which didn’t reach the floor.
When the doors to the chambers opened, the bailiff cried out, “All rise!”
And for the first time in five years, the command applied to the judge as well.
Callaghan walked in. He was using a cane now, one he had kept in his closet gathering dust. He moved slowly, wincing with every step, but he moved under his own power.
He reached the bench and remained standing.
“I have reviewed the evidence,” Callaghan began. The room was so quiet you could hear the rain dripping from coats in the back row.
“The prosecution’s case relies entirely on the credibility of Martin Harlow and documents that, upon closer inspection, bear significant hallmarks of forgery.”
Callaghan picked up the red folder.
He looked at Reynolds.
“Mr. Reynolds, you have failed in your duty to seek the truth. You sought a conviction, not justice. You ignored red flags because the defendant was a mechanic and the accuser was a business owner. That ends today.”
Callaghan turned his gaze to Darius.
“Mr. Darius Moore, please stand.”
Darius stood, his legs shaking.
“The evidence provided by your daughter proves, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you were not present when these signatures were made. It proves that the funds were diverted to an entity controlled by your accuser’s family. It proves you are innocent.”
Callaghan slammed his hand on the desk.
Darius collapsed into his chair, sobbing. A guttural sound of relief ripped out of his throat. Hope threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.
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