Chapter 9 - Three Hundred Witnesses
Richard Sinclair's trial lasted nine weeks.
The government called fifty-two witnesses.
Bankers.
Doctors.
Former employees.
Adoptive parents.
Biological mothers.
Accountants.
Lucas.
Grace.
Rachel.
Matteo.
And Abigail.
Richard's lawyers fought everything.
They argued New Dawn had operated independently.
They claimed employees forged records.
They insisted Richard's recordings were taken out of context.
They tried to exclude Caroline's notebooks.
Failed.
They attacked Lucas's memory because of his brain injury.
He answered carefully.
“When I don't remember, I say I don't remember.”
The attorney pushed.
“So your memory is unreliable.”
Lucas looked at the jury.
“My damaged memory is more honest than Mr. Sinclair's intact one.”
That line reached every evening newscast.
Jessica testified about waking without her son.
The adoptive parents sat behind her.
They had become part of a carefully mediated arrangement.
Jessica's son remained primarily with them while Jessica gained visitation and legal recognition.
There was no perfect repair.
Only compassionate adults refusing to create another wound.
Then Abigail took the stand.
Richard watched her with mild contempt.
His attorney began with the ballroom.
“Mrs. Foster—”
“Ms. Foster,” Abigail corrected. She and Lucas had delayed the wedding until after the baby.
“Ms. Foster, Vanessa Sinclair slapped you.”
“Yes.”
“You were humiliated.”
“Yes.”
“You became angry with the Sinclair family.”
“I became afraid of them.”
“Yet you aligned yourself with Matteo Romano, a business rival.”
“I accepted security after someone drove an SUV onto a sidewalk.”
The jury watched.
The attorney displayed photographs of her secured apartment.
“Mr. Romano provided luxury housing?”
“Temporarily.”
“Private transportation?”
“For safety.”
“Legal representation?”
“I selected my own lawyer.”
“But Mr. Romano paid security.”
“Yes.”
“So you benefited financially from your relationship with him.”
Abigail looked confused.
“Not being hit by a car is a financial benefit?”
Several jurors smiled.
The attorney changed direction.
“Your mother had a grievance against Mr. Sinclair.”
“She discovered fraud.”
“Allegedly.”
“The government has independent records matching her notebooks.”
He frowned.
“You're not here as an attorney.”
“No.”
“Then answer only questions.”
“I did.”
Richard's face tightened.
Then the prosecutor rose.
Naomi walked toward Abigail.
“Why did you keep working at the hotel while seven months pregnant?”
“Because rent was due.”
“Why did you enroll in the Sinclair maternal program?”
“Because I needed help paying for delivery.”
“Did you know your information would be used to evaluate your child for adoption?”
“No.”
“Did you agree to surrender him?”
“No.”
“Did you authorize anyone to place a monetary value on him?”
“No.”
“Did you know your mother investigated MTR seventeen years earlier?”
“No.”
“Did you know Lucas Cole was investigating Sinclair when you began dating?”
“No.”
“So when Vanessa Sinclair slapped you in that ballroom, had you designed a plan to destroy her family?”
Abigail almost laughed.
“I was carrying champagne.”
Naomi nodded.
“No further questions.”
The government saved Richard's recordings for the end.
His voice filled the courtroom.
“Take the documents.”
“Create records.”
“Accidents happen in rain.”
“Stop calling it a surrender.”
Then the recording from Abigail’s phone call.
“The adoption couple was excellent.”
Richard closed his eyes.
For the first time, he looked old.
The defense called him anyway.
He testified for two days.
He was polished.
Measured.
Almost persuasive.
He described himself as a philanthropist whose organizations became too large to control.
He denied knowing mothers were falsely told their children died.
Naomi approached on cross-examination.
“Mr. Sinclair, how many children did your foundation place through New Dawn?”
“I don't know.”
“More than ten?”
“Possibly.”
“More than fifty?”
“I don't know.”
“One hundred eighty-four.”
Richard said nothing.
“How many mothers signed valid relinquishment forms?”
“I relied on counsel.”
“Thirty-one.”
Silence.
“How many were told their infant died despite the child surviving?”
“I never ordered that.”
“Twenty-two.”
“I did not know.”
Naomi displayed the office transcript.
Marilyn: Jessica keeps asking to see the baby.
Richard: She was told the child died.
Richard stared.
Naomi asked, “You knew.”
He tried to explain.
She continued.
“You knew.”
“I knew what I was told.”
“You directed staff to create records.”
“Context—”
“You ordered documents taken from Abigail.”
“I wanted stolen property returned.”
“You said accidents happen in rain.”
“That was rhetorical.”
“Then an SUV drove at her in the rain.”
Richard's mask broke.
“Do you understand what was at stake?”
Naomi stopped.
The courtroom went silent.
She looked toward the jury.
“What was at stake?”
Richard realized.
Too late.
“My family.”
Naomi nodded.
“And what were their families worth?”
Richard had no answer.
The jury deliberated less than eight hours.
Guilty.
Racketeering conspiracy.
Fraud.
Kidnapping conspiracy.
Witness tampering.
Obstruction.
Financial crimes.
Illegal adoption conspiracy.
Attempted assault conspiracy.
Dozens of counts.
Richard showed no emotion until the judge ordered him remanded permanently.
Then he turned toward Abigail.
“What do you want?” he shouted.
Deputies grabbed his arms.
“What do you people want from me?”
Abigail stood.
The judge warned the gallery.
But Richard kept shouting.
“You've taken everything!”
Abigail looked at him.
“No.”
Her voice was calm.
“You gave it away every time you decided another human being mattered less than your reputation.”
Richard stared.
She sat.
That was the last thing she ever said to him.
Outside, three hundred people waited.
Almost the exact number who had stood in the ballroom the night Vanessa slapped her.
But this crowd was different.
Former Sinclair workers.
Mothers.
Families.
Hospital employees.
Some carried photographs of children.
Some held signs demanding reform.
Abigail emerged beside Lucas.
The press surged.
Someone shouted:
“How does it feel to destroy the Sinclair empire?”
She stopped.
“I didn't destroy it.”
Cameras flashed.
“They did.”
She looked back toward the courthouse.
“All we did was stop helping them hide what they built.”
Then her expression changed.
A sharp pain crossed her face.
Lucas grabbed her arm.
“Abby?”
She inhaled.
Another contraction.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“My water just broke.”
The reporters became silent.
Then Lucas panicked so completely that Abigail started laughing.
“Hospital,” she said.
“Yes. Hospital. Obviously. Which hospital?”
“Not Sinclair Memorial.”
Even Naomi laughed.
Matteo's car was already pulling forward.
For once, nobody cared about the verdict anymore.
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A different story was beginning.
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