Chapter 8 - The Trial of Extinction
The federal trial of Ryan Collins began in the heat of the summer. The courtroom was packed with journalists, financial analysts, and members of the public who had followed the "Supply Closet Baby" story since it broke in the local news.
Ryan sat at the defense table, his hair unkempt, his expensive suit replaced by a plain navy blue institutional blazer. His defense team looked exhausted before the morning session even began.
"The prosecution calls Emma Collins to the stand," the Assistant U.S. Attorney announced.
A murmur ran through the gallery as twelve-year-old Emma walked down the center aisle. She wore a simple dark blue dress, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. She looked small against the massive oak paneling of the federal courtroom, but her steps were rhythmic and unbroken.
She climbed into the witness box, took the oath, and sat down. Her eyes scanned the room, bypassing the cameras, bypassing the lawyers, until they landed on Ryan. He glared at her, trying to use the same intimidating stare that had kept her quiet for three years.
But Emma didn't blink. She looked at him with the cold, analytical clarity of a child who had seen behind the adult curtain and found nothing but a coward.
"Emma," the prosecutor said, stepping up to the podium. "Can you tell the jury what you did at 11:42 p.m. on the night of your brother's birth?"
"I took Noah out of his bassinet and hid him in the clean supplies closet," Emma said, her voice carrying clearly through the microphone into every corner of the silent room.
"And why did you do that, Emma?"
"Because I heard my stepfather, Ryan, talking on his phone by the vending machines," Emma answered, her gaze never leaving Ryan’s face. "He said that if Noah wasn't his biological son, he would never let him enter our house. He said my mom wouldn't get a choice this time. I knew he was going to hurt my brother, so I made a safe place for him until the adults who actually cared woke up."
May you like
A collective gasp rippled through the jury box. One of the jurors, an older woman with silver hair, looked at Ryan with an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust.
The defense attorney stood up, his voice weak. "No questions for this witness, Your Honor."
