Chapter 211 The Verdict 5

Chapter 211 The Verdict 5
I watched their faces. Every legal analyst, every courthouse veteran, every lawyer that had spoken during the trial had said the same thing. Watch the jury when they come back. If they look at the defendant, it's an acquittal. If they avoid her, it's conviction.
None of them looked at Eugenia.
Not one.
They walked to the jury box with their eyes forward or down, settling into seats they'd occupied for six weeks, arranging themselves with the careful movements of people carrying something heavy. The foreperson, the teacher in her mid-fifties, held a stack of verdict forms against her chest.
My heart was beating so hard I felt it in my throat.
Anderson's hand tightened around mine. I didn't look at him. I couldn't.
Judge Caldwell waited until the jury was seated.
"Has the jury reached a verdict?"
The foreperson stood. Her voice was steady. "We have, Your Honor."
"Please hand the verdict forms to the bailiff."
The foreperson passed the stack to the bailiff, who carried it to Judge Caldwell. The courtroom was so quiet I heard the paper transfer between hands.
Judge Caldwell reviewed the forms. Page after page. Her expression revealed nothing. She read through them methodically, and the seconds stretched into something unbearable.
Then she looked up.
"Will the defendant please rise."
Eugenia stood. Graham stood beside her. She clasped her hands in front of her body. Her posture was perfect. Her chin was level. Her eyes were fixed on a point somewhere above Judge Caldwell's head.
She looked the way she'd looked every day of this trial. Composed. Untouchable. Like the verdict was something happening to someone else.
Judge Caldwell handed the forms back to the bailiff, who returned them to the foreperson.
"The foreperson may read the verdicts."
The foreperson unfolded the first page. She held it with both hands. Her fingers trembled slightly, but her voice did not.
"In the matter of the United States versus Eugenia Ellsworth. Count one. Conspiracy to commit murder in the death of Timothy Blackwood."
She paused.
"We, the jury, find the defendant guilty."
The word detonated in the courtroom. Someone behind me gasped. A reporter's pen hit the floor. Anderson's grip crushed my fingers.
Judge Caldwell raised her hand. "Order. There will be no outbursts. Continue."
The foreperson turned to the next page.
"Count two. Racketeering under the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act. Guilty."
"Count three. Murder for hire in the death of James Morrison. Guilty."
A sound from across the aisle. Mary Morrison. Not a cry. Something smaller. The sound of something breaking that had been held together for twenty-two years.
"Count four. Murder for hire in the death of Charles Preston. Guilty."
"Count five. Murder for hire in the death of Richmond Howard. Guilty."
Behind me, Thomas made a sound. Half sob, half exhale. 
I didn't turn around. But I heard his mother whisper something. His name. Or his father's. I couldn't tell.
"Count six. Conspiracy to commit murder in the death of Stephen Johnson. Guilty."
"Count seven. Murder for hire in the death of Elijah Shaw. Guilty."
The foreperson continued. RICO counts. Conspiracy charges. Wire fraud. Money laundering. Witness intimidation.
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
The word repeated like a pulse. Each count a blow delivered in the same flat, steady voice. The foreperson read without inflection, without drama, her composure the only thing keeping the courtroom from dissolving.
I watched Eugenia.
Nothing.
No flinch. No blink. No shift in weight. No movement of her hands. No change in the line of her jaw or the set of her shoulders. She stood beside Graham like a woman listening to weather forecasts in a language she didn't speak.
I'd spent some time studying her. Learning her patterns. Reading her silences. And I'd never seen anything like this. It wasn't control. Control implies effort. This was absence. Whatever existed behind Eugenia's face, whatever mechanism had allowed her to order six murders and sleep soundly afterward, it was operating now. Sealing her off from the room, from the words, from the twelve people dismantling her life one count at a time.
"Count nineteen. Fraud in connection with Ellsworth Industries' financial reporting. Not guilty."
The first acquittal rippled through the gallery. Graham straightened slightly. Eugenia did not move.
"Count twenty. Fraud in connection with Worth Enterprises' tax filings. Not guilty."
Two more fraud counts came back not guilty. Insufficient evidence. The financial paper trail hadn't been strong enough on the lesser charges, the ones furthest from the murders, the ones built on inference rather than direct testimony.
Four acquittals out of forty-seven.
The foreperson turned to the final page.
"Count forty-seven. Attempted murder of Elaine Campbell."
My name in the courtroom. In the foreperson's mouth. In the official record of a federal trial.
I stopped breathing.
"Guilty."
Anderson's hand was shaking. Both his hands. I looked down and saw my hand white inside his grip, his knuckles colorless, the tremor moving up his wrist into his forearm.
I looked back at Eugenia.
Nothing. Staring straight ahead. Hands folded. Pearls at her throat, catching the courtroom light.
Judge Caldwell addressed the courtroom.
"The jury has returned verdicts on all forty-seven counts."The defendant is found guilty on twenty-three counts, including all six murder charges, RICO conspiracy, racketeering, and attempted murder. The defendant is found not guilty on twenty-four counts, including four counts of financial fraud."
She turned to Eugenia.
"Mrs. Ellsworth, you are remanded to federal custody pending sentencing. Sentencing will be scheduled three weeks from today. The court will hear arguments from both prosecution and defense regarding sentencing recommendations at that time."
She looked at the jury.
"Members of the jury, the court thanks you for your service. Six weeks of testimony. Five days of deliberation. The commitment you've shown to this process reflects the highest ideals of our justice system. You are dismissed."
The gavel came down.
Eugenia turned from the defense table. Two federal marshals moved to flank her. Graham leaned toward her and said something I couldn't hear. She didn't respond. Didn't acknowledge him.
She walked toward the side door. Her back straight and her hands at her sides. The cream suit was moving with her as though she were leaving a dinner party early.
She didn't look at Anderson.
Didn't look at me.
Didn't look at any of the families in the gallery, the people whose lives she'd dismantled, the children who'd grown up without parents because she decided their families were in her way.
The side door opened. The marshals guided her through.
The door closed behind her.
Eugenia Ellsworth was gone.