PART 18:

His voice shook but never stopped. He admitted his guilt, accepted his culpability, and provided evidence that corroborated everything Nathan had documented. By the end of the day, Mercer’s confident expression had cracked. The judge set a trial date for 6 weeks out. Nathan and Vivien left the courthouse together, pushing through reporters shouting questions.

They drove back to Ashton Ridge in silence, both too drained to speak. Margaret was waiting at the garage with Ellie. The little girl ran to Nathan immediately. “Did you win?” “Not yet, baby, but we’re trying.” “Trying is what superheroes do,” Ellie said seriously. Nathan picked her up, holding her close. “Yeah, it is.

” That night, after Ellie was asleep, Nathan and Vivien sat on the garage roof, watching stars appear over Ashton Ridge. It was something they’d started doing when the fighting got too heavy. A way to remember the world was bigger than courtrooms and evidence. Vance is going to keep pushing the relationship angle, Viven said quietly. I know he’ll try to make us look like we conspired together, that I’m only testifying because I’m romantically compromised.

Does it change anything? No. She leaned against him, but it might hurt the case, make us less credible to a jury. Nathan thought about it about 10 years of fighting, about finally having evidence that mattered, about the possibility that his relationship with Viven could be the thing that undermined everything.

We should probably, he started, don’t. Viven cut him off. Don’t suggest we pretend this isn’t happening. don’t suggest we distance ourselves for the sake of optics. But if it hurts the case, then it hurts the case. But I’m not going to hide what I feel because Daniel Mercer’s lawyers want to use it against us.” She turned to look at him.

I spent 30 years hiding who I was to maintain a professional image. I’m done with that. Nathan kissed her soft and deliberate under a sky full of stars. Okay, he said, “Then we do this together. Whatever happens, whatever happens, she agreed. 6 weeks had never felt shorter. The trial started on a Monday in late spring when Ashton Ridge was finally shaking off winter and pretending summer might actually come.

Nathan woke up at 4:00 a.m. unable to sleep and found Viven already awake in the kitchen making coffee that neither of them would drink. “You ready?” she asked. “No, me neither.” They stood in the kitchen watching the sun come up, both dressed in court clothes that felt like costumes.

Nathan kept adjusting his tie. Vivien kept checking her phone for messages that weren’t coming. Ellie shuffled downstairs at 6, rubbing her eyes. Is today the big day? Yeah, baby. Today’s the big day. Are you scared? Nathan crouched down to her level, terrified. But you’re doing it anyway. That’s what bravery is, being scared and doing it anyway. Ellie hugged him tight.

You’re the bravest person I know. Nathan held his daughter and tried to believe her. Margaret arrived at 7 to take Ellie to school. She squeezed Nathan’s shoulder on her way out. Make them pay. That’s the plan. The courthouse was even more packed than the preliminary hearing. National media had picked up the story.

Victims families filled the gallery. Outside, protesters carried signs with photos of the dead. Marcus Webb’s face was there. Robert Patterson’s. 73 photos that reduced a decade of corporate murder to images on poster board. Warren met them in the hallway outside the courtroom. Jury selection is done. Eight women, four men, ages ranging from 26 to 68.

Mix of blue collar and white collar. Should be favorable. Should be, Viven asked. Mercer’s team tried to stack it with corporate executives. We blocked most of them, but there are two jurors with significant investment portfolios who might sympathize with business interests over victims. Warren checked his notes. We’re leading with Hong’s testimony, establishing the conspiracy first, then using Nathan’s documentation to prove pattern and scope.

What about Mercer? Nathan asked. He won’t testify. Too risky. Vance will rely on discrediting witnesses and creating reasonable doubt. Warren looked at them both. He’s going to come after your relationship again. Make it seem coordinated. Rehearsed. Let him try, Vivien said. Inside the courtroom, Daniel Mercer sat at the defense table looking every bit the respectable executive.

Silver hair perfectly styled suit probably worth more than Nathan’s truck. He glanced at Nathan once with an expression that might have been contempt or might have been confidence. Nathan couldn’t tell the difference anymore. The judge entered. Everyone stood. The trial began. Warren’s opening statement was clean and brutal.

He walked the jury through 10 years of evidence. Showed them the engineering report Nathan had written, explained how Mercer had buried it, detailed the 73 deaths that followed. “This is not a story about corporate negligence,” Warren said. This is a story about deliberate calculated murder, about executives who knew people would die and decided those deaths were acceptable costs of doing business.

He pointed at Mercer. That man didn’t accidentally kill 73 people. He chose to. And for 10 years, he silenced everyone who tried to stop him. Vance’s opening was different, smoother. He painted Mercer as a dedicated executive who’d devoted his life to American manufacturing, who’d made tough decisions in an industry with inherent risks.

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