Chapter 9 - The Trial of Daniel VanceSix months later, the courtroom of the King County Superior Court was packed to capacity for the trial of The State of Washington v. Daniel Vance.
I sat in the front row of the gallery, my right arm fully healed, wearing a sharp navy blue blazer that matched the strength in my eyes. Beside me sat Sarah Jenkins.
Daniel stood at the defense table, wearing a cheap, ill-fitting suit. He had lost weight in jail, his face gaunt, his eyes hollowed out by fear. Across the courtroom, Judith and Vanessa sat in the back row, looking small, defeated, and completely ignored by the reporters who had once chased them down the street.
The prosecution played the audio recordings. The sound of Daniel’s cold, threatening voice filled the courtroom, making several of the jurors flinch.
Then, the medical examiner took the stand, displaying high-resolution photos of my fractured ulna, explaining the sheer amount of physical force required to cause such an injury.
"This was not an accident, ladies and gentlemen of the jury," the prosecutor said, turning to face the box. "This was a calculated, brutal act of domestic violence designed to silence a woman who was trying to protect her own livelihood. Daniel Vance broke his wife's bones, and then he sat at her dinner table and laughed about it with his family."
The jury deliberated for less than two hours.
"We, the jury, find the defendant, Daniel Vance, guilty of domestic assault in the second degree, corporate embezzlement, and grand larceny," the foreperson announced, her voice ringing clear through the silent courtroom.
Daniel slumped forward, his hands covering his face as a low, desperate sob escaped his lips.
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The judge slammed his gavel. "Daniel Vance, you have shown a complete lack of remorse, a history of financial exploitation, and a terrifying capacity for violence. I sentence you to eight years in a state penitentiary, to be followed by five years of federal supervised release."
As the bailiffs led Daniel away in handcuffs, his mother let out a loud, pathetic wail from the back of the room, but I didn't turn around. I stood up, buttoned my blazer, and walked out of the courtroom into the bright, clean Seattle sunlight.
