Not a cough. Not a whisper. The judge stopped writing. Wesley's lawyer stopped passing notes. A room full of people who had walked in assuming a convict was grasping at straws sat frozen, understanding all at once that they were watching an innocent woman's name come back to life.
Claudia stood up. "This is—"
"Sit down, Ms. Delaney," the judge said, without looking up. "You'll have your turn. I suspect it will be in a different courtroom."
My conviction was vacated that afternoon.
The investigation that opened into Wesley and Claudia did not go gently for them. The shell company, the forged documents, the perjury — the law takes a particular interest in people who send an innocent woman to prison to cover their own theft. They got their turn in that different courtroom. It did not go the way my trial had gone.
I won't pretend I didn't feel something, watching Claudia's face when the judge said the words. I'm human.
