In a quiet alcove of the federal courthouse inAtlanta, Georgia, a middle-aged man stared out of a rain-splatteredwindow. His dark hair was betrayed bystreaks of gray on either side of his head. Although a model of physical fitness, he leaned against the wall forsupport while watching the heavy rain that splashed down on the sidewalk fivestories below. He watched as cars droveby purposefully and pedestrians with umbrellas dashed along trying to avoid thestreams of water that rushed off into the street. Occasionally, his focus was directed to thewindow as beads of water raced erratically down the glass pane.

While he stood in this motionless position, heenvied every car, bus, taxi, pedestrian, and—yes, even the lone bicyclist—intheir ability to travel to their intended destinations. How he would have traded positions with anyone of them. Even the bicycle was asymbol of freedom that he currently was not able to enjoy. How much longer that privilege would escapehim was up to a jury of seven men and six women who had just settled into thecourtroom not far away.

“Paol?” a soft voice from behind him blendedsmoothly with the subtle sound of rain splashing against the window. It was so soft that the distracted mancompletely missed it.

The sound of heels clicking on the polished tilefloor grew louder as they approached the man, but even this noise did nothingto arouse him from his thoughts. Onlywhen a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder did he turn with a start.

“It’s time, Sweetheart.” The gentle words were warm and encouraging inspite of the façade. Paol knew that hiswife was agonizing ever so much as he was, and while he was grateful for herstrength, he ached to know that she had to carry this burden so gracefully.

As his bloodshot eyes gazed into her smilingface, a corner of his mouth turned up sadly. With a deep breath, he held out his arm. She received it happily and turned towards a man that had been waitingat the back of the room.

“We’ll beat this, Paol! I’m confident that if there are any on thejury who are yet unconvinced, they will be on our side before the end of theday.”

Wearing a dark pin-striped suit, well-pressedwhite shirt, and cobalt blue tie, the lawyer was dressed as confidently as hesounded. Spinning around, he walked withdeliberate poise down the hall. Following his lead, the couple pursued the man and disappeared intocourtroom number 523.

As he crossed the threshold, he contracted someof the encouragement of his defender. After all, Paol Joonter knew that he was innocent of the charges filedagainst him. Surely, the best judicialsystem in the world could not make the wrong decision.

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