PART 13:

The jury had seen a doctor confess to helping poison a patient. They’d seen genuine remorse and heard detailed testimony about the plot. But the real test would come tomorrow when Aaron took the stand. That night, Aaron couldn’t sleep. He lay in his small apartment staring at the ceiling, rehearsing his testimony over and over.

Rachel had coached him extensively. Tell the truth. Don’t embellish. If you don’t remember something, say so. Don’t let Caruso rattle you. Stay calm. Stay consistent. Easy advice. harder to follow when your credibility would be shredded by one of the best defense attorneys in the country. His phone buzzed. A text from Evelyn.

You’re going to be fine tomorrow. Just tell them what you told me. The truth. That’s all anyone needs to hear. Another text. This one from Margaret Chen. Remember Caruso’s job is to create doubt. Your job is to be honest. Honesty always wins in the end. Aaron wanted to believe that, but he’d seen too much of the world to think honesty always triumphed over money and power and expensive legal teams.

He got up, made tea, and stood by his window watching the city. Somewhere out there, Marcus Cross was in a jail cell, probably sleeping soundly because he believed his money would save him. Somewhere, Evelyn was in her sister’s guest room, trying to rebuild a life from the ashes of betrayal. Somewhere 12 jurors were forming opinions that would determine whether attempted murder had consequences or whether wealth could buy a pass even for burying someone alive.

Aaron’s phone buzzed again. This time an unknown number. Mr. Cole, this is juror 7. Just kidding. It’s Detective Park. Wanted to remind you that your testimony tomorrow matters. We’ve built a solid case, but you’re the foundation. Get some sleep. You’ve got this. Aaron smiled despite his anxiety. Park had been checking in regularly since the arrest, making sure he was okay, keeping him updated on the investigation’s progress. She believed in him.

Evelyn believed in him. Margaret believed in him. Maybe it was time he started believing in himself. He went back to bed, and this time sleep came. Fitful and interrupted by dreams of coffins and courtrooms, but sleep nonetheless. The next morning, Aaron Cole took the stand at 9:47 a.m. He was sworn in, his voice steady, his hand firm on the Bible despite his lack of religious faith.

Truth was truth, whether sworn on scripture or not. Rachel Kim smiled at him reassuringly. Mr. Cole, please state your full name and occupation for the record. Aaron Michael Cole, I work worked as a cemetery groundskeeper and part-time janitor. How long did you work at Riverside Memorial Cemetery? 7 years.

And how long did you work at Patterson’s funeral home? Four years part-time. Tuesday and Thursday nights, usually 11:00 p.m. to 3:00 a.m. Rachel walked him through his background methodically, his 20 years as a paramedic, his excellent record, his specialized training in emergency medicine. She was building his credibility before Caruso could tear it down. Mr.

Cole directing your attention to November 15th of this year. Were you working at Patterson’s funeral home that night? Yes. I’d switched shifts with another janitor. I was there from 11:30 p.m. to about 3:15 a.m. What were you doing around 1:30 in the morning? Mopping the administrative wing. The offices are usually empty that late, but as I approached Mr.

Patterson’s private office, I heard voices. How many voices? Two, both male. speaking quietly but not whispering. Could you hear what they were saying? Not at first. I was about to leave. It wasn’t my business. But then one of them mentioned the Cross funeral and I stopped. Why did you stop? Aaron looked directly at the jury. Because Evelyn Cross’s death had been all over the news.

Everyone knew about it. A billionaire dying suddenly at 43. That’s not something you forget. And I heard these two men discussing her funeral in a way that seemed wrong. So I listened. Where were you positioned? About 6 ft from the office door. It was cracked open maybe 2 in. I could see shadows moving inside, but I couldn’t see faces clearly.

What did you hear? Aaron took a breath, centering himself. This was the moment that mattered. The first voice, I later realized it was Marcus Cross, said, “We need the burial by Friday at the latest. Saturday morning would be ideal. Quick turnaround, fewer questions.” And the second voice, which was Dr. Webb, said, “This is insane, Marcus.

If anyone runs a toxicology screen,” and Marcus cut him off. He said, “Nobody’s running anything. You signed the death certificate, natural causes, cardiac event. Who’s going to question the family physician?” Rachel nodded. “What happened next?” Dr. Webb asked, “What if she wakes up just like that, very clearly?” And there was silence for maybe 5 seconds.

And then Marcus laughed. It was cold, humorless, and he said, “That’s why we bury her Saturday morning, Harrison. The compound you gave her will keep her under for 48 hours, maybe 50. We put her in the ground Friday or Saturday, and even if the drug wears off early, she’s 6 feet under before she can do anything about it.” Several jurors gasped.

Evelyn’s hand flew to her mouth. Marcus sat stone-faced, but a muscle twitched in his jaw. Rachel let the silence build before asking, “Are you certain those were his exact words?” “Absolutely certain. I’ve replayed that conversation in my head every day for 3 weeks. She’s 6 ft under before she can do anything about it.” Those were his exact words.

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