Chapter 7 - The Trial of Savannah Reed
Six weeks later.
The Dallas County Criminal Courthouse was packed to maximum capacity. Journalists, television crews, and high-society observers crammed into the wooden pews of Courtroom 3B.
Savannah Reed sat at the defense table. The polished blonde waves were gone, replaced by flat, dull hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She wore a simple beige sweater provided by her lawyer, but her posture was slouched, her eyes fixed nervously on the judge's bench.
Beside her sat her court-appointed attorney. Her family had refused to hire a high-priced private defense team after the Vance family let it be known that any firm representing Savannah would lose all corporate retainers with Vance Global Holdings.
On the other side of the courtroom sat the prosecution team, flanked by Eleanor Vance-Cross and myself.
I sat in the front row, wearing a tailored navy wool dress, my hair styled in soft, elegant waves. In my arms, I held six-week-old Lily, who was sound asleep, wrapped in a soft white cashmere blanket.
Preston Hartwell sat three rows behind the defense table. He looked hollowed out—his expensive suits were gone, replaced by an off-the-rack jacket that hung loosely over his thin shoulders. He had lost his company, his home was on the market under foreclosure proceedings, and he was currently living in a rented studio apartment while facing federal investigation for corporate tax evasion.
"The state calls Miss Emily Vance to the stand," the prosecutor announced.
I handed Lily gently to Uncle Arthur, stood up with complete composure, and walked to the witness stand. I placed my hand on the Bible, took the oath, and sat down in the wooden chair.
For thirty minutes, the prosecutor walked me through the events of that morning at St. Catherine's Medical Center. I spoke clearly, calmly, and without a single tremor in my voice.
"Miss Vance," the prosecutor asked, turning to face the jury. "When the defendant, Savannah Reed, kicked you near your ribs, what did she say to you?"
"She said, 'Maybe now she’ll finally know where she belongs,'" I replied, my voice echoing through the quiet courtroom.
"And where did you belong, Miss Vance?"
I looked directly at Savannah Reed, then at Preston Hartwell.
"I belonged in a place where human beings are treated with dignity," I said firmly. "A place where a mother and her child are protected, not kicked onto a marble floor to satisfy someone's petty arrogance."
Savannah’s lawyer didn't even attempt a cross-examination. The high-definition security footage, combined with the medical reports and eyewitness testimonies from four hospital nurses, left zero room for defense.
The jury deliberated for less than forty-five minutes.
When they returned, the foreperson stood up and read the verdict:
"Guilty on Count One: Felony Assault on a Pregnant Individual. Guilty on Count Two: Reckless Endangerment. Guilty on Count Three: Domestic Harassment."
Judge Miller looked down at Savannah Reed from the bench, his face stern and unforgiving.
May you like
"Miss Reed," Judge Miller said, his voice cold. "Your behavior in a public hospital against an expectant mother was not merely criminal; it was appalling, cruel, and completely devoid of basic human empathy. I sentence you to four years in the Texas Department of Criminal Institutions, with zero eligibility for early probation."
Savannah let out a loud, hysterical sob as the court bailiffs stepped forward, snapping metal handcuffs over her wrists and dragging her away through the side door into custody.
