Chapter 8 - The Trial of the Decade
Six months later, the Cook County Criminal Courthouse was under full media siege as the trial of the State of Illinois versus Julian Vance and Selena Cole began.
I sat in the front row of the gallery, wearing an elegant ivory maternity suit. My pregnancy had progressed beautifully under Caleb Reed’s meticulous medical care; my twin boy and girl were healthy, strong, and kicking with vibrant life beneath my heart. Beside me sat Caleb, his hand resting gently over mine, offering steady, unbreakable strength.
Julian sat at the defense table in a faded prison jumpsuit, his face gaunt, his hair streaked with premature gray, his hands shackled to his waist. He couldn't look in my direction; every time he tried, the sight of my pregnant stomach made him violently tremble with shame.
The prosecution’s case was airtight, brutal, and swift. Marcus and the state’s attorney presented the high-definition audio recording, the emergency dispatch timestamps, the bloody Persian rug, and the forensic metadata from my smartwatch.
Then came the medical testimony. Dr. Caleb Reed took the witness stand, projecting high-resolution photographs of my surgical wounds and the early ultrasound images taken three days after the assault.
"The defendant plunged an eight-inch utility blade into the victim's abdomen with sufficient force to sever multiple arterial branches," Dr. Reed testified, his voice echoing with absolute moral clarity across the packed courtroom. "He did so while the victim was carrying two seven-week-old fetuses. Only the victim's immediate presence of mind to remain still and prevent arterial hemorrhaging saved three lives that night."
Selena Cole’s attorney attempted to blame Julian entirely, but the state produced recovered text messages between the two co-conspirators from thirty minutes prior to the assault: “Bring the knife from the kitchen. I have the scratch ready. We end this today.”
The jury deliberated for less than ninety minutes.
When the jury foreperson stood to read the verdict, the silence in the courtroom was absolute.
"On the charge of attempted first-degree murder: guilty. On the charge of attempted intentional homicide of an unborn child: guilty. On the charge of aggravated domestic battery: guilty. On the charge of conspiracy to commit murder: guilty."
Selena Cole collapsed onto the table, screaming hysterically as the bailiffs surrounded her.
Judge Eleanor Vance—no relation to the family, known as the most unyielding jurist in the district—looked down at the defendants with cold, merciless disgust. "In thirty-two years on the bench, I have rarely witnessed such callous, cowardly disregard for human life. You discarded your pregnant wife like refuse to feed your vanity and greed."
The gavel came down like thunder.
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Selena Cole was sentenced to thirty-five years in the Logan Correctional Center without the possibility of early release.
Julian Vance was sentenced to forty-five years at Stateville Correctional Center, effectively ensuring that he would spend the remainder of his natural life behind iron bars.
