Chapter 8 - The Testimony of the Son
The defining moment of the trial came on the fourth day, when the prosecution called its most unexpected witness.
"The state calls Roger Vance," Marcus Cole announced.
A low murmur rippled through the gallery. Francine’s head snapped around, her jaw dropping as her son stepped through the double doors at the back of the courtroom.
Roger wore a dark blue suit. He looked thinner than he used to be, but his shoulders were squared, and his stride was steady. He didn't look at his mother as he walked down the aisle. He looked straight at Colton and me.
He took the stand, raised his right hand, and swore to tell the truth.
"Mr. Vance," prosecutor Cole asked, "what was your relationship with your mother prior to the events of November 12th?"
Roger took a deep breath, his voice steady and clear. "My mother controlled every aspect of my life. She picked my college, she managed my bank accounts until I was thirty, and she spent sixteen years trying to ruin my marriage because Bethany would not let her control our children."
"Objection!" the defense attorney shouted. "Relevance!"
"Overruled," Judge Harrison stated firmly. "The witness may continue."
"Did you ever notice your son’s health declining?" Cole asked.
"Yes," Roger said, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. "Colton started slurring his words in September. He was sleeping fourteen hours a day. I asked my mother if we should take him to a specialist. She told me I was being weak. She told me Bethany was a neurotic mother who was ruining our son's confidence. And because I was terrified of disappointing my mother, I listened to her instead of protecting my boy."
Roger turned his head slowly, facing Francine directly for the first time in six months.
"My mother is a predator," Roger said, his voice ringing out across the courtroom. "She poisoned my son. She almost killed him. And I am here today to tell this court that I will spend the rest of my life making up for the fact that I let her into my house."
Francine stood up suddenly from the defense table, her face contorted in rage.
"You ungrateful coward!" she screamed at her son, breaking the solemnity of the court. "I built you! I gave you everything! You are nothing without me! Nothing!"
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Judge Harrison slammed her gavel down three times like thunder. "Silence in the court! Remand the defendant!"
Two bailiffs grabbed Francine’s arms, forcing her back into her seat. But the damage was done. The jury had seen the true face of Francine Vance—the cold, hysterical tyrant behind the silver hair and cream cardigans.
