I AM SO SORRY IT'S TAKEN ME LONG TO GET THE LAST FEW CHAPTERS UP HERE. IVE ACTUALLY BEEN PRACTICALLY LIVING AT THE HOSPITAL WITH MY GRANDFATHER, WHO AS BEEN REALLY SICK. THANKFULLY, HE IS DOING BETTER. BUT THANKS FOR YOUR PATIENCE.

BACK TO THE STORY - THIS AS WELL AS THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER - I WANT TO SAY, I DO NOT CLAIM TO HAVE ANY EXPERTISE WITH LEGAL STUFF. THIS IS ALL JUST RESEARCHED AND DON'T TAKE IT FOR TRUTH OR REALITY.

ALSO - WARNING FOR SENSITIVE TOPIC IN THIS CHAPTER.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK - THIS ONE TOOK ME A WHILE TO WRITE. I'D LOVE FEEDBACK ON IT.

ENJOY!


"No further questions, Your Honor."

Elizabeth let her breath out for a second when the prosecution was done with their questions for Emma. Elizabeth squeezed Henry's hand, needing support. The information, some of which Elizabeth knew was only the tip of the iceberg, was never an easy thing to handle coming from her little girl's mouth.

It wasn't that Emma couldn't handle herself up there. Elizabeth was so proud of her daughter – she spoke and acted like a grown adult up there. The way she held her composure, the way she never stuttered or stumbled over her words – she could hold her own.

The suit they'd chosen had been a great choice, her hair straightened to her shoulders, the subtle makeup – she knew the amount of input that Emma had endured about her look must've been extreme. But it worked. Emma didn't look like a little girl – didn't look like a victim. She looked – grown.

"The Defense may cross-examine the witness." The judge said.

Elizabeth looked over at the defense table, where the lawyer stood and buttoned his jacket. In the line of sight, Elizabeth saw Conrad. Leaning forward, watching the lawyer intently. And she felt deep resentment and anger begin to boil up. How he could sit there while Emma stood on the stand – how he could even think about supporting his wife after what Lydia had done was unthinkable. She'd had the best investigators check everything out – their finances, their correspondence, every paper in their house – but there was no evidence pointing to his involvement. And she believed that. But she couldn't believe how he stood by his wife.

That was just as bad, in Elizabeth's mind.

She quickly turned her attention back to the proceedings as the defense lawyer began questioning.


Emma watched the lawyer stand up, button his suit, and clear his throat. She couldn't help but inwardly smile at the irony of how he felt like someone straight out of some courtroom drama show on television. Dark hair combed over, black suit, grey tie, shoes shined, eyes that searched hers as she made eye contact with him.

All he's missing is the pocket square Emma thought, trying to find something funny about the whole thing. Blake and I will discuss this later.

As he started asking the question, Emma adjusted in her seat, flexing her hands in her lap before settling them. Time for the hard stuff.

"Ms. McCord, I would like to turn your attention to exhibit K."

And he placed a clear-front folder on the stand in front of her. She reached out and took it. "Ok." She said.

"Ms. McCord, can you tell the Jury what you are looking at here?"

She pulled the file into her lap so she could read it. "It's the report from my debriefing with the FBI." She flipped open the cover page, and saw the transposition of her conversation with Agent Harr and Agent Thorp.

The lawyer, without his own copy, was trying to look like a hot-shot by just quoting as he walked Emma through his question. "Can you read the date of the report from the top?"

She looked at the corner. "November 5, 2018." Maybe he was just checking to see if she could read.

"If you'll turn to page 12, you'll see a highlighted part. I want to read that for you, and if you can tell me if that indeed is what is written."

Emma refused to look rattled, or confused. The latter of which she actually was. But she turned, and heard him reading the words.

"Ms. McCord, you say 'They got orders from a small cell phone. It came in. In English. Amir could understand English and speak only a bit. But they got their orders from someone who spoke English.' Agent Harr then asked, 'Was their ever any indication of where that come from?' And you, Ms. McCord, responded with simply, 'No.'" And she looked up from her copy to see him looking at her, to which he pointedly asked, "Is that what the report says, Ms. McCord?"

"Yes." She said plainly. And she knew where he was going.

He stepped away from the table and turned towards the jury while he asked, "Only a few minutes ago, you, under oath, accused my client of confirming you were a hostage, encouraging your captors to physically assault you. Yet in this report, you state that you had no knowledge of who was on the other end of the phone call. Is there a reason for these discrepancies?"

Emma took a deep breath, mentally checking her armor before answering, "When I got back from…"

"Please answer the question." The lawyer interrupted, "Yes or no – is there a reason for these discrepancies?"

She locked her jaw and remembered what Mike had said during prep – unless asked to explain, stick to yes or no questions with the defense. And she said, "Yes." Then she started, "Can I explain…"

The defense attorney interrupted, "Do you know…"

"OBJECTION." The prosecutor stood up.

The judge simply said, "The witness is allowed to explain her answer here."

Emma nodded, and said, "At the time of the debriefing, I was still reeling from complete culture shock, and not being able to trust anyone." She could remember that day, how everything felt mixed up. "I knew that there were members of the government who had orchestrated my kidnapping. And I was afraid of what would happen if I told the agents." She took a deep breath, "I was suffering from PTSD, had massive trust issues, and was just trying to understand what was going on around me at the time."

The defense attorney nodded. And then moved on.

"Do you know that under 18 USC Section 1001, it is a felony to make a false statement to an agent or agency of the federal government in connection with a federal matter?"

And this time, it was Mike who stood up and loudly said, "Objection, Your Honor." He waited for the judge to nod to him before he said, "Irrelevance, Your Honor. Ms McCord was not under investigation by the FBI, which is what 18 USC Section 1001 refers to."

"Withdrawn." The defense attorney said, a smirk on his face. Then he turned to Emma and asked, "Ms. McCord, is it true that approximately two and a half years ago you were involved in the death of Former NSA Advisor Craig Sterling?"

"OBJECTION." Mike said again, standing, "Irrelevant. This is not the trial for Craig Sterling."

The defense attorney jumped in, "If I may, I believe this line of questioning important in establishing the witness' credibility."

The judge paused, and then said, "I'll allow it." Then she turned to Emma, "Please answer the question."

Emma nodded, and then said, "Yes." She inwardly relaxed a bit. Craig Sterling's death was something that she'd gotten over and dealt with.

"Did you plan the murder of Former NSA Advisor Craig Sterling?"

She hated how he kept using Sterling's title. And she remembered something Mike told her, "Can you rephrase the question?"

He pretended to be offended, "Of course, Ms. McCord. Did you take the time to plan to kill Craig Sterling?"

She didn't like the question. "I planned how to…"

He cut her off, "Yes or No, Ms. McCord."

"Objection. He is badgering the witness."

"Overruled." The judge said, "Please answer the question."

"No." Emma decided, sticking with her gut feeling. "I did not plan…"

"Did you drug your secret service Agent Hensley in order to steal his gun?" He interrupted.

She was short with her answers, "Yes."

"Did you deliberately attempt to draw Sterling out with your television interview?"

"Yes."

"Objection." From Mike, "The FBI and the USSS have ruled Craig Sterling's death a matter of self defense."

"Again, your Honor, the line of questioning speaks to the witness' frame of mind in regards to my client."

"Overruled."

And the defense attorney started in again, "Is it true that the night Craig Sterling was murdered you shot him without even trying to hold him and have him taken in for questioning?"

She replayed the interaction quickly, thinking, and she said, "Yes."

"So you shot a man in cold blood with only yourself as the judge and jury that night, is that correct?"

"Objection."

"Withdrawn." He'd made his point, Emma knew. She could feel her hands starting to sweat. She wasn't feeling good about this.

He started another line of questioning, "Is it true that eight days before Craig Sterling was killed, you visited my client in her home?"

"Yes." Emma said.

And now – the words came fast. "Is it true that you placed the paperwork discovered in my client's home in order to frame her?"

Emma's eyes grew wide, "No."

"Is it true that you wanted to frame my client, Lydia Dalton, and you left falsified paperwork in the house of the Former President and my client?"

"No." She said more forcefully.

"Objection!" Mike said loudly, "These are baseless claims!"

"Withdrawn."

Emma tried to steady herself. She looked down at Mike, who just sat down and shrugged his shoulders.

But the defense attorney was not done. He paced the floor as he asked the next few questions, "You mentioned earlier that you had PTSD. Was that diagnosed by a mental-health professional?"

"Yes." In a weird way, Emma was thankful for the reminder about her therapist. She tried not to think about the fact that she was in therapy was now public knowledge for the world.

"I want to ask you some questions about time-tables." He began. "You gave your debriefing testimony two weeks after you were brought home, correct?"

"Yes." She said, feeling more steady.

"And less than four months later, you were the one who shot and killed Former NSA Advisor Craig Sterling. Is that correct?"

"Yes." She said.

"And the day after that, you filed a statement with the FBI and USSS accusing my client of being involved in your kidnapping?"

"Yes."

"So, in that short period of time, you were thinking clearly enough, not suffering from culture shock and PTSD anymore, to take a man's life based on what YOU thought was the reality of the situation, and sent a woman who is thought of as a national treasure as a former first lady of this country – you made that flip in less than four months, is that correct?"

Mike and the prosecutor both said, "OBJECTION!" At the same time.

And he quickly, "Withdrawn."

Emma could tell Mike was rattled. And the courtroom buzzed a bit louder than before. And Emma tried to stay as still as possible. But she knew what point he'd made to the jury. She saw it. She could see the wheels turning on some of their faces.

The defense attorney paused for a moment, walking over to the defense table, gingerly putting his hand in his pocket as he looked off into the distance. Then he turned back to her. And his tone was different. Some might have thought it softer. Some may have mistaken the quiet for caring.

Emma knew he was leading to something.

"Ms. McCord, I am not here to take away from your horrible experiences while in Iran." He looked at the ground as he pretended to think. Emma wished he would yell at her. She hated the cold and calm way he was playing everyone. "In fact, I want to give you a chance to speak about that experience."

She felt the steel armor softening a bit. She needed it now. She could be calm. She could be strong.

"Back to the day of the filming of your first ransom video. The day you talked about earlier."

She could focus on the words again, right? She would be fine. Her hands started to shake, but she grasped them together.

"I know it's hard." He said, leading her into the panic, "But, in your estimation, how long had you been without food?"

She had to think through that. And thinking through it meant going through it. From the plane. To the cell. To the chains. To Lea. To being…

"About three days." She said. And her voice was weaker. She could feel her chest collapsing quietly.

"And about how long, I don't need an exact number, but just an estimate of how long you'd gone without water?" His sweet voice resembled a snake.

Water was something different. She remembered they were fed, at the beginning, very little. And water was not given to her except when Amir would give it to her. The other guards… Her mind wandered. But she forced it back. And she just spit out, "About a day."

And he got close to the witness stand, like he was caring. And he asked, "I'm sure you weren't sleeping much, were you?"

Emma shook her head, and then said, "No." She willed her mind to stay in the present. She couldn't let it go there. She…

"Had you, by any chance, had any rough bumps? Like a hard fall? Since your capture?" He asked.

She blinked twice. In the first, she could feel herself falling backwards down the stone stairs to the cells. In the second she pulled herself out of the cell and back into the courtroom. And she quietly said, "Yes."

And he stepped away, and said, "So you're telling me…" His voice changed, more to compiling information than showing any kindness. "…that you were starving, dehydrated, sleep-deprived, and had been injured…" And he paused for effect before continuing, "… the same day that you claim to have witnessed my client, the former first lady of the United States, telling the men who could barely speak English to beat you more?"

Emma didn't move.

She couldn't.

The chains around her wrists and ankles dug into her skin. She'd pushed herself back into the corner, pulling her knees close to her chest. She buried her head in her knees, trying to be as small as possible.

Emma could see herself there. She could see it. The little girl who had no one to save her.


Elizabeth's anger and abhorrence for the defense attorney stepped aside as she saw Emma's eyes go vacant. Unfocused. Her daughter was staring off into the distance, hands were now turning over in her lap, her hands alternating rubbing along each wrist. She was breathing a bit fast, but not much.

Elizabeth knew that look. She assumed it was the same look her staff had been worried about after Iran. The dead air.

"Ms. McCord?" The attorney asked again, more pointed.

Emma didn't move. Her eyes didn't blink.


No food. Her stomach had growled for the first day or two. Now it just hurt. Deep hurt. A burrowing hurt. Her hands always shook, whether from the fear or hunger.

No water. The men – the big men – they let her have some once a day. But only when she did something for them. If she shook her head no when they gestured her over to them, they'd take the water out and pour it down on the ground, waiting for her to try and lap it up from the ground between the stones. Then they'd laugh. Her mouth was so dry.

Everything in her body hurt.

She couldn't sleep. How would she? Even when she did, she just dreamed about her mom and dad – and then woke up crying because they weren't there. She'd push herself up against the wall and whimper, trying to be quiet.

She'd tried to get out the first day. She thought she could. She wanted to run. If she could open the door, then her mommy could find her. But the man had caught her feet, spinning her around as the back of her head fell hard on the ground. Then he'd picked her up and shoved her back in the cage.


Elizabeth whispered, "Henry?"

His only response was to squeeze her hand. She turned just a bit, and she saw his other hand was nervously rubbing his jawline, watching their daughter freeze on the stand.

Elizabeth felt it in her. She didn't care what anyone said. She would go up there. Her daughter needed her. She was, after all, the President of the United States. She could do.. And she was. She pushed her hand to the bench underneath her, ready to stand up and go get Emma, when a hand on her shoulder pulled her out.

It was Charlotte.

Her warm eyes and calming voice must have had some effect. Charlotte whispered, "She's got this."

Elizabeth didn't believe her. "She needs…"

Charlotte shook her head, "She's strong. Just give her a minute."

The faith this girl had in Emma.

Elizabeth sat back for a second. Or two. Then she decided again, "No I have to…"

This time the hand on Elizabeth's shoulder was stronger. And Charlotte said, "No. She needs to do this."

Elizabeth couldn't decide whether she was still a Charlotte fan or not.

But she turned her attention back to the spaced out girl on the stand.

"Ms. McCord, please answer the question."


The judge's voice reached in.

And Emma pushed away the little girl just enough to look out into the space around her. And she asked, "The question?"

And the attorney repeated himself. "Were you starving, dehydrated, sleep-deprived, and injured the same day you claim Lydia Dalton instructed the men holding you captive to assault you?"

Hungry.

Thirsty.

Tired.

Hurt.

And Emma simply nodded, the little girl in the corner coming into focus more. And she whispered, "Yes."

The little girl looked straight into Emma. Her eyes dark. Her nose bleeding. Her lips trembling under the blood.

And Emma could feel it. In her body.

The girl – hair matted with dirt and blood – reached her hand out, fingers shaking, fingernails covered in dirt, her wrist bound in a shackle that rattled the chains around her.

"No more questions, your Honor."

And then the girl spoke. "Help." Emma felt the word tingle throughout her entire body.

Then it came again, more urgent this time, "Help." Emma couldn't listen. She had to pay attention.

"Follow up?" The judge asked.

Pulling them back in. "They're coming." The girl whispered, terror swimming in the world around them.

"Thank you, your Honor." Mike said.

Then he stood up. And walked to the bench.

Emma didn't move. Her eyes fluttered closed, closing out the courtroom from what felt more important.

The girl on the floor of the cell, looked behind her, where the yelling was coming from. And the cry this time was more urgent. "Help me. Now. Please."

And Mike's question was simple. "Ms. McCord, why did you go to see Conrad and Lydia Dalton on…"

The date fluttered away.

She knew the answer.

The girl began to scream as the chains rattled. Emma remembered screaming. Begging for help. Begging for them to listen to her. Begging for her mother. For her father. For. Mercy.

She was just a little girl, Emma wanted to scream out. She'd been so small and helpless.

Emma felt a tear tremble at the corner of her eye.

All Emma had wanted was for someone to help. Keep her safe. Listen to her. Hold her.

She had to do that.

And she felt the armor rise, enclosing both the little girl inside of her and the woman sitting in the courtroom.

And she felt the tear run down her cheek, and she opened her eyes. "I had to see her for myself." Her voice was strong. "I had to see the woman who had let that happen to me." Her shoulders adjusted. "You see, I had to look her in the eye." And Emma looked to the jury. "She had seen me that day, a little twelve year old, scared, hurt. And I knew it was her. And I begged her. Begged for her help. Told her I wanted my mom."

Emma took a breath. "I went to visit because… I couldn't understand."

The armor locked in. And Emma imagined the little girl suddenly safe from the people who were coming for her. Suddenly safe from the past.

Emma looked over at Mike, "And I found…" Emma stared Lydia down. "The same cold, heartless eyes. The same woman who years before had encouraged men to hurt me. Who had orchestrated me being ripped from the only safe place I'd ever known." And then she looked at Conrad. The man who had chosen his wife over justice. And, with a plain and pointed tone, she said, "And I got my answer."

"Prosecution Rests."