Between Evidence and Shadows in Court
662 Words
"Well, we're going in," Prosecutor Nilow said.
The officers opened the heavy wooden doors of the courtroom. John entered, closely escorted by the officer in charge of his custody.
Everyone present took their respective seats. John settled at the front table next to the guard, and both sat down. The judge adjusted his glasses, organized the documents on the bench, and looked at the prosecutor.
"What are the charges against Mr. Nishpor, prosecutor?"
"Tax evasion and acquisition of assets of questionable origin," Prosecutor Nilow argued in a firm voice. "Here is the evidence, Your Honor," he added, walking up to the podium to hand over a folder.
The judge took the papers and began examining them in silence. After a few seconds, he looked up.
"And what is your defense, Mr. Nishpor?"
"All those documents and photographs prove absolutely nothing," John replied with serene firmness. "If I may, I have a document drafted by Prosecutor Nilow himself accusing me of bank robbery, something for which there is zero evidence. They only attached a photo of me leaving a bank... By the way, I'm glad they caught my good side for that photo; I actually liked it. May I hand it over?"
The judge nodded. John stood up, approached the bench, and handed over the document. The judge read it carefully.
Seeing this move, Prosecutor Nilow's face turned red with anger. Breathing heavily and with his eyes fixed on John, he took one of his own papers and ripped it into pieces discreetly under the table. John let out a subtle smile of satisfaction and returned to his seat.
"How do you plead, Mr. Nishpor?" the judge asked.
"Not guilty," John said, standing up momentarily. "Everything I own, I've earned through hard work. That's all I have to say, Your Honor." With that, he sat back down.
"Prosecutor, do you wish to state anything else?"
"No. The documents speak for themselves," Nilow said, standing up abruptly. "John is guilty, and he is clearly not a normal person. He didn't even show up with a lawyer, and his only defense is an old document he took from me without me realizing. I truly believe he is mentally unstable, Your Honor. I suggest that he be evaluated by a psychologist in jail." Nilow sat back down, throwing a venomous look at John.
John remained unflappable. He avoided the prosecutor's gaze and, from time to time, flashed a discrete, triumphant smile that the judge didn't notice.
"Your Honor, I would like to add something," John requested.
"You have the floor," the magistrate granted.
"They took me into custody, and I've remained in a cell for two or three days... I've already lost track of time. All of this without immediately commencing my trial. I consider it a highly negligent act on the part of the prosecutor and the officers."
The judge made a note in his ledger.
"I understand, Mr. Nishpor. I will attach your statements to your file to conduct a thorough analysis of the case, evaluating both the prosecution's position and that of the defendant. I will carry out due process strictly adhering to the law, ensuring that neither party's rights are violated."
The officer accompanying Nilow looked at him with disappointment. The prosecutor returned a glare filled with frustration, sat down, and covered his mouth with one hand. With the other, he pulled his phone out of his pants, hid it on his thigh beneath the table, and saw an incoming notification.
It was a text from Carol Minier:
«Did everything go as we expected?»
The prosecutor immediately stashed his phone away.
John didn't bother to look at him; he kept his eyes fixed on the judge, politely clasping his hands together on the table as he awaited the ruling.
"All rise," the judge's voice boomed through the courtroom.
- Writer
