Chapter 5: The Bail Hearing
Chapter 5: The Bail Hearing
The Cook County Criminal Courthouse was packed to capacity. The media circus had moved from the hospital to the courtroom.
Preston sat at the defense table, looking haggard. His expensive tuxedo had been replaced by an oversized orange jail jumpsuit. His hair was disheveled, and his hands were cuffed behind his back. My parents sat in the front row of the gallery, looking like statues of anger. When I walked in and sat on the prosecution side, my mother’s glare could have cut glass.
The judge, a formidable woman named Judge Eleanor Vance (ironically, also no relation to the defense lawyer), slammed her gavel down to bring the rowdy courtroom to order.
"We are here for the bail hearing of State of Illinois vs. Preston Bennett," Judge Vance announced. "The defendant is charged with aggravated battery to a minor, reckless conduct, and tampering with evidence. State, proceed."
The prosecutor stood up and played the hotel security footage. The entire courtroom went dead silent as the video played on the large screens. When the moment of impact occurred, several journalists gasped. My mother closed her eyes, not out of sympathy for Sophie, but out of shame for her son’s exposure.
"Your Honor," my father’s attorney, Arthur Vance, stood up smoothly. "While the footage is distressing, this is a highly emotional family matter. The defendant has no prior criminal record. He is a respected junior partner at a prestigious law firm. He is not a flight risk. We ask for a signature bond or a minimal cash bail so he can return home to his bride."
"Your Honor, if I may," the prosecutor countered, "the defendant was apprehended at a hotel attempting to board a vehicle bound for an airstrip. Furthermore, we have evidence of witness intimidation."
The prosecutor turned to me. I stood up, holding a printed copy of the one-million-dollar NDA agreement that Arthur Vance had tried to force me to sign at the hospital just hours earlier.
"This was delivered to me by the defense counsel at the hospital while my daughter was in surgery," I told the judge, my voice echoing through the courtroom. "They threatened to use their legal influence to take my daughter away if I didn't sign this cover-up document."
Judge Vance’s face turned like thunder. She looked at Arthur Vance, then at my father, and finally at Preston.
"An NDA delivered to a victim's mother in a pediatric ward?" Judge Vance said, her voice dripping with disgust. "Mr. Bennett, your family may be used to buying your way out of country club infractions, but this is a court of law. Bail is denied. The defendant will be remanded in custody until trial."
Preston gasped, turning violently toward his father. "Dad! Do something! You promised you'd get me out! Dad!"
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My father stood up, his face pale, but the bailiffs immediately pointed at him. "Sit down, sir, or you will be held in contempt!"
As Preston was dragged out of the courtroom, screaming and crying, my mother turned her eyes to me. She walked over, her voice a poisonous whisper. "You have destroyed this family, Evelyn. I swear to God, you will regret the day you were born."
