Chapter 17 Verdict
The judge cleared his throat once more and adjusted himself in his seat, signaling for the courtroom to settle. His voice echoed sharply as he said, “You may all be seated.” The quiet scrape of chairs filled the room as everyone obeyed. After a brief pause, he picked up a file from his desk and called the case in the typical courtroom fashion.
“This is the matter of Layla Blade versus Nexus Vance Hospital, civil case number….” he continued, reading out the long string of numbers. He announced that today’s hearing concerned my charges against the hospital for issuing a false diagnosis of breast cancer, leading to unnecessary emotional trauma and attempted surgical intervention. His voice was calm, controlled, but I could sense a bit of curiosity behind it, probably because the whole case was, by itself, bizarre.
As soon as he finished, both attorneys, the prosecutor representing me and the defendant’s attorney stepped forward. They approached the judge’s bench, stopping right before the designated podiums. Even now, there was still no actual representative from the hospital present. Just their heavily sweating attorney who kept wiping his forehead every sixty seconds or so. And even if hospital staff were here somewhere, they were definitely hiding in the shadows like scared rats.
My attorney began by presenting the core of my complaint. “Your honor,” he said, “the defendant claimed my client had breast cancer. They conducted fraudulent tests and pressured her into agreeing to immediate breast removal surgery.”
He laid the first set of documents before the judge, copies of the diagnosis reports, the falsified lab results, the recommendation for surgery, all bearing official stamps that looked legitimate.
Next came the stack of receipts. “Your honor, here you’ll see proof of the payments she made toward the scheduled procedure.”
The defendant attorney tried to interject. “Your honor, if I may—”
“You may speak when it’s your turn,” my attorney said sharply without missing a beat.
I felt a bit proud. I chose the right man.
Then came the biggest blow: the evidence from my phone. Eric had retrieved it for me from the hospital earlier after practically breaking down the entire facility with his presence alone. My attorney held the phone up so the judge could see the photo on the screen, the moment when I was just about to be wheeled into the operating theater. Me in a hospital gown, looking exhausted and terrified.
The judge’s brows lowered slightly as he stared at it.
Meanwhile, the defendant attorney’s confidence kept melting off him like ice in a desert. When he finally attempted to defend the hospital, he was practically choking over his words.
“Your honor, t-there must be some misunderstanding, perhaps a clerical issue—surely the doctors believed in their—”
“Believed in what?” my lawyer snapped. “Fake results? Nonexistent cancer cells? Or perhaps the sudden miraculous vanishing of cancer after multiple real hospitals confirmed she is completely healthy?”
The defendant attorney stuttered again, unable to form a proper sentence. Everyone could see it. No matter what he said, no matter how he tried to twist the narrative, the truth was obvious, and the truth was in my favor.
After about forty minutes of back-and-forth arguments, the judge finally motioned for silence. Then he looked directly at me.
“Miss,” he said, “please step forward.”
I stood from my seat and walked to the front, my palms warm with nerves even though I had nothing to fear anymore. The judge studied me for a long moment. His expression was calm but firm, and I could tell he had already reached his conclusion.
“It is clear as day,” he said, “that the hospital acted improperly, irresponsibly, and in direct violation of professional standards. The evidence overwhelmingly shows that you were falsely diagnosed and that subsequent tests conducted at other medical facilities confirm you never had breast cancer.”
“Yes, your honor,” I said softly.
He paused, leaning forward slightly as if trying to read my soul. Then he asked something unexpected, something that made every person in the courtroom lift their heads.
“What do you want? Personally.”
He didn’t look at my attorney. He didn’t ask for legal phrasing or technical requests. He spoke to me directly, like a human being taking pity… or maybe simply trying to understand my pain.
For a moment, I considered involving Diana, after all, she had been the catalyst in all this mess but doing that would open a new layer of complications. Diana was too cunning, and too unpredictable. She certainly had backup plans ready for herself, especially if things went wrong. And my attorney had already warned me not to bring her into this specific courtroom fight since the hospital itself hadn’t officially tied her to the case.
So I kept it simple.
I inhaled, softened my features, and let a pitiful expression bloom on my face. “Your honor,” I began, my voice trembling just slightly, “I just… want compensation. I’ve been dealing with so much stress and depression after almost having my breasts shaved off because of a false diagnosis.”
A hush fell. Even the defendant attorney’s jaw dropped slightly.
The judge’s expression darkened instantly. His small figure seemed to tremble with fury as he turned toward the defendant’s attorney.
“I cannot overstate the seriousness of what this hospital attempted to do,” he said slowly, each word heavy. “They endangered a patient’s physical and mental wellbeing, and the emotional trauma inflicted is undeniable.”
He raised his chin. “My judgment is as follows: the hospital shall compensate the plaintiff in the amount of ten million dollars. Furthermore, the medical practitioners involved in issuing the false diagnosis shall have their licenses seized and will be subjected to formal investigation.”
A loud gasp came from the defendant’s side. The attorney’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull, but he didn’t dare utter a single word, not after the beating he had just received.
The judge picked up his gavel and said, “That is the ruling of this court.”
Bang!
He slammed it down with a force I didn’t think his short arms could muster.
“Court dismissed.”
And then came the unexpected final touch. Because of his short height, he had to practically leap off the chair to get down. But given that the seat was average-sized and he was not, the jump looked dramatic, as if he were hopping off a building instead of a simple chair.
He landed with a tiny thud.