Chapter Two:The Testimonies
1749 Words
Maya’s POV
I sat behind the prosecutor with my hands clenched tightly in my lap.
My father stood at the defendant’s table.
Alan Hayes.
He looked smaller than I remembered.
Not weak.
Just tired.
The judge adjusted his glasses.
“Call the first witness.”
A woman stepped forward.
Ella Morgan.
She was sworn in and took her seat.
The prosecutor approached her.
“Ms. Morgan, do you know the defendant?”
Ella looked directly at my father.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I worked in the finance department with him.”
“And were you aware of his activities involving the company’s accounts?”
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did you see?”
Ella folded her hands.
“I saw Mr. Hayes transfer money from company accounts into several private accounts.”
The courtroom went quiet.
“Did he explain why?”
“He said it was part of a business arrangement.”
“Did you believe him?”
“No.”
The prosecutor stepped closer.
“Why not?”
“Because the transfers were made at strange hours. Sometimes after midnight. And the amounts were always different.”
My father suddenly looked up.
“That’s not true.”
The judge struck his gavel.
“Mr. Hayes, you will have your opportunity to speak.”
My father lowered his head.
The prosecutor continued.
“Did you ever confront him?”
Ella nodded.
“I asked him about it once.”
“And what did he say?”
“He told me to forget what I’d seen.”
My fingers dug into my palms.
That wasn’t my father.
Or at least, it wasn’t the father I knew.
The prosecutor thanked her.
“Cross-examination.”
My father’s lawyer stood.
“Ms. Morgan, you said you worked with Mr. Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
“And during those three years, did you ever personally see Mr. Hayes steal money?”
Ella paused.
“No.”
“You saw transfers?”
“Yes.”
“But you never saw him take cash?”
“No.”
“So your conclusion that he stole the money is an assumption?”
Ella’s expression tightened.
“No. I know what I saw.”
The lawyer stared at her for a moment.
Then sat down.
The prosecutor called the next witness.
Jeremiah Lou.
He walked into the courtroom with confidence.
Too much confidence.
He took the oath.
“Mr. Lou, what was your relationship with the defendant?”
“I handled several financial transactions for Mr. Hayes.”
“Were those transactions legitimate?”
Jeremiah shook his head.
“No.”
“What were they?”
“Money laundering.”
A murmur swept through the courtroom.
My heart dropped.
The prosecutor turned toward the jury.
“Did Mr. Hayes tell you where the money came from?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Sterling Industries.”
My father stood.
“That’s a lie!”
“Order!”
The judge’s voice echoed across the courtroom.
My father slowly sat down.
I stared at Jeremiah.
He wouldn’t look at me.
The prosecutor continued.
“Did Mr. Hayes ever threaten you?”
“Yes.”
My eyes widened.
“What did he say?”
Jeremiah swallowed.
“He told me that if I ever talked, I’d regret it.”
The prosecutor nodded.
“No further questions.”
During cross-examination, my father’s lawyer asked one question.
“You claim Mr. Hayes personally instructed you to launder money?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Jeremiah answered immediately.
“October 14th.”
The lawyer looked down at his papers.
“And where did this meeting take place?”
“The Sterling Industries office.”
“What time?”
Jeremiah hesitated.
“About eight in the evening.”
The lawyer’s eyes narrowed.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
He sat down.
The prosecutor called Noah Parker next.
Noah looked nervous.
He kept rubbing his hands together.
“Mr. Parker, did you work with Alan Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“Were you involved in the movement of company funds?”
“Yes.”
“Who gave you instructions?”
He looked at my father.
“Alan.”
My father closed his eyes.
“Did he tell you what the money was for?”
“No.”
“Did you know it was illegal?”
“Yes.”
“And why did you continue?”
Noah’s voice dropped.
“Because I was afraid of him.”
The prosecutor turned toward the jury.
“Afraid of Mr. Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“What did he threaten to do?”
“He said he could destroy my family.”
My chest tightened.
I knew my father.
He would never say that.
Never.
But nobody in that courtroom knew him the way I did.
Then came Ethan Miller.
His testimony was the shortest.
And somehow, it hurt the most.
“Yes,” Ethan said when asked whether he had seen my father handling suspicious transactions.
“Yes,” he said when asked if Alan had instructed him to hide financial records.
And when the prosecutor asked whether my father had acted alone, Ethan answered:
“No.”
“Who else was involved?”
Ethan looked at the jury.
“I don’t know their names.”
The prosecutor frowned.
“But you knew there were others?”
“Yes.”
My father looked up.
For the first time that day, fear crossed his face.
Not guilt.
Fear.
I noticed it.
But I didn’t understand it.
The prosecutor finally called his last witness.
Julian Sterling.
He walked to the stand.
My breath caught.
Julian was different from the others.
He didn’t look nervous.
He didn’t look confident either.
He simply looked tired.
The prosecutor approached him.
“Mr. Sterling, did you know Alan Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“My family owns Sterling Industries.”
“And did Mr. Hayes have access to company finances?”
“Yes.”
“Did you discover irregularities?”
“Yes.”
“Were those irregularities connected to Mr. Hayes?”
Julian’s eyes moved toward my father.
For a second, they stayed there.
Then he answered.
“Yes.”
My heart cracked.
The prosecutor asked the question everyone had been waiting for.
“Do you believe Alan Hayes stole from Sterling Industries?”
Julian was silent.
The courtroom held its breath.
Finally, he said,
“Yes.”
My father stared at him.
And I watched something change in his face.
Not anger.
Betrayal.
The prosecutor smiled faintly.
“No further questions.”
Julian returned to his seat.
I looked at my father.
He looked at me.
His lips moved.
Just one word.
“Maya.”
I couldn’t hear him.
But I knew what he was saying.
And for the first time that day, I wondered if everyone in that courtroom had gotten the story wrong.
I just didn’t know how wrong they were.
I stayed in my seat even after the courtroom began to empty.
People stood, gathered their papers, and walked out as if they had just witnessed an ordinary case.
For me, nothing about it was ordinary.
I kept looking at the door through which my father had disappeared.
A part of me wanted to run after him.
Another part of me was scared of what I might hear if I did.
I had spent the entire day listening to people describe a man I barely recognized.
A thief.
A liar.
A man who threatened people.
A man involved in money laundering.
But the man I knew was the one who used to wait outside my school when it rained because he knew I always forgot my umbrella.
The man who called me every morning before school.
The man who never let me sleep without checking that I had eaten.
How could both men be the same person?
I had no answer.
And somehow, that scared me more than the accusations themselves.
A few days later, I asked my mum when I could go see my father. She said I should give him about two weeks before I go.
I frowned when she said it.
“Two weeks?”
Mum nodded.
“Why?”
She looked away for a moment.
“Because everything is still fresh, Maya.”
“But he’s my father.”
“I know.”
Her voice was soft.
“I know he is.”
There was something in the way she said it that made me stop asking questions.
I studied her face.
She looked exhausted.
More exhausted than she had looked the morning before.
“You’re okay, right?”
She smiled.
“I’m fine.”
It was the kind of smile adults gave when they wanted children to stop asking questions.
I didn’t believe her.
But I didn’t push.
I still had school to attend; and people to face.
The next few days were a blur. Go to school, meet up with Zara, my best friend, and wonder how my dad was coping in the new environment.
Zara noticed that something was wrong with me almost immediately.
“You’ve barely spoken all day,” she said one afternoon.
“I’m tired.”
“You’ve been tired for days.”
I shrugged.
She looked at me for a few seconds before sighing.
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
I looked at her.
“But?”
“But I’m here if you want to.”
That was Zara.
She never forced me to talk.
She simply stayed.
And somehow, knowing that someone was willing to sit beside me without asking questions made everything feel a little less heavy.
Still, every time my phone rang, my heart jumped.
I kept hoping it would be Dad.
It never was.
Sometimes I would stare at my phone for several seconds before answering, almost disappointed when I saw someone else’s name.
I hated how much I missed him.
And I hated even more that I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to.
Most times I’d get home early so I could see my mum and take care of her.
She had a sickness that I didn’t know much about because dad didn’t want to ‘worry’ me too much. And mum also didn’t let me know about anything because she didn’t want me stressed and overwhelmed. Mainly because of my dad’s recent conviction.
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