Chapter 5 - The Arrest and the Courtroom Ambush
The local news coverage at noon was nothing short of a public execution.
Daniel and I watched the wall-mounted television in my hospital room. Even the nurses had stopped their rounds to crowd into the doorway, watching the live helicopter feed broadcast by Channel 4 News.
The banner running across the bottom of the screen screamed:
**BREAKING NEWS: PROMINENT COLUMBUS REAL ESTATE BROKER ARRESTED AT JOHN GLENN AIRPORT IN CONNECTION WITH BRUTAL ATTACK ON PREGNANT SISTER-IN-LAW.**
The footage cut from the aerial view of the tarmac to the security checkpoint inside Terminal B.
Brittany was captured in high-definition cell phone video taken by stranded travelers.
She was no longer the sleek, untouchable mogul in cashmere. She was wearing oversized dark sunglasses, an expensive camel-hair trench coat, and carrying a Louis Vuitton duffle bag.
Four armed Port Authority officers and two Columbus SVU detectives had surrounded her directly at the jet bridge of Gate B19.
When the female officer grabbed Brittany’s arm to pull it behind her back, Brittany went wild.
She screamed, flailing her arms, knocking a rolling carry-on into an innocent bystander, her sunglasses flying off her face to reveal wide, manic, terrified eyes.
“Get your filthy hands off me!” her shriek echoed clearly through the broadcast audio. “Do you know who I am? Call Richard Vance! Call my attorney! I have a boarding pass! I have rights!”
“Brittany Harmon, you are under arrest for attempted aggravated murder, felonious assault on an unborn child, and grand theft,” the detective’s voice boomed over the terminal commotion.
The female officer swept Brittany’s legs out from under her. Brittany slammed down onto the carpeted airport floor with a dull thud. Within seconds, her arms were wrenched behind her back, and the heavy steel handcuffs clicked into place around her wrists.
The camera caught Brittany’s face as they hauled her to her feet.
Her mascara was smeared across her cheeks in black streaks. Her perfect hair was a tangled rat’s nest. As the officers marched her through the crowded terminal, past hundreds of travelers recording the spectacle on their smartphones, she caught sight of a local news camera.
She lunged toward the lens, her face twisted in pure, animalistic hatred.
“Rachel did this!” Brittany screamed into the camera, spitting as she shrieked. “Rachel set me up! She’s a lying, money-grubbing bitch! She’s trying to steal my family’s money! Daniel, tell them! Tell them it was an accid—”
An officer shoved her through the double security doors, cutting off her voice forever.
“Oh, thank God,” I whispered, burying my face in Daniel’s chest, weeping tears of pure, unadulterated relief. Daniel held me tight, kissing the top of my head, his own tears dampening my hair.
Two weeks later, the Franklin County Court of Common Pleas was packed to the gills for the bail hearing.
I was discharged from the hospital three days prior. I arrived in a wheelchair pushed by Daniel, with my attorney Sarah Finch flanking my side. Across the aisle sat Diane and Kyle. Kyle had formally filed for divorce on Monday morning and was cooperating fully with the prosecutor as a state’s witness.
Behind the defense table sat Brittany, dressed in the bright orange jumpsuit of the Franklin County Corrections Center. Her hands and ankles were shackled with heavy chain. Without her makeup, her expensive blowouts, and her designer clothes, she looked hollow, gaunt, and feral.
Beside her sat Arthur Pendelton, the most expensive, ruthless defense attorney in central Ohio, hired through the remaining remnants of Richard Vance’s financial network.
Pendelton stood before Judge Evelyn Vance (no relation to Richard Vance), a notoriously tough, no-nonsense jurist.
“Your Honor,” Pendelton argued, his voice rich with polished theatricality. “The state has drastically overcharged this case. What we have here is an unfortunate, chaotic domestic accident during a family dinner that has been sensationalized by the media. My client is a respected businesswoman, a pillar of the community, and has zero prior criminal convictions. The allegation of 'attempted murder' is legally absurd. We request bail be set at a reasonable two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, with electronic home monitoring.”
Judge Vance adjusted her spectacles, looking down from the bench with cold, unblinking eyes.
“Mr. Pendelton,” the judge said, her voice cutting through the courtroom like a scalpel. “The court has reviewed the evidence submitted by the prosecutor in support of the state’s motion for remand without bail. Has counsel watched the digital exhibits?”
Pendelton cleared his throat. “Your Honor, the video from the refrigerator is grain—”
“The video is in ten-eighty-p high definition, Mr. Pendelton,” Judge Vance interrupted sharply. “I watched your client deliberately measure her distance, draw back a steel-toed boot, and kick a thirty-five-week pregnant woman directly in the womb with enough force to cause a catastrophic placental abruption that nearly killed two human beings.”
The courtroom murmured. Brittany looked down at the mahogany table, her jaw twitching violently.
“Furthermore,” Judge Vance continued, picking up a thick stack of papers. “The state has presented verified wiretap transcripts and cellular data recovered from the defendant’s phone. On Sunday, September 10th, at five-twenty-two PM, while the victim was being rushed into emergency surgery, the defendant placed a call to a Mr. Richard Vance. In that call, your client stated, and I quote: *‘It worked. She’s going into surgery. The baby won't make it to October first. The trust is ours.’*”
A collective gasp echoed across the courtroom gallery.
Pendelton stood frozen, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He turned his head to look at Brittany, his expression shifting from professional confidence to sheer, stunned disbelief. Brittany didn't look at him; she was staring at the table, her fingernails digging so hard into her palms that blood was welling up beneath the cuticles.
“In forty years on the bench,” Judge Vance said, her voice vibrating with cold fury, “I have rarely witnessed such callous, premeditated, and depraved indifference to human life. The defendant is an extreme flight risk, having already been apprehended at an airport attempting to flee to an non-extradition jurisdiction with forged travel documents.”
Judge Vance brought the heavy wooden gavel down with a thunderous crack that shook the room.
“Bail is denied. The defendant will remain in the custody of the Franklin County Sheriff until trial.”
“No!” Brittany screamed, lunging to her feet, the chains around her waist rattling violently against the wooden furniture. “You can't do this to me! Richard promised! Richard said he had the judge in his pocket!”
“Take her down,” Judge Vance ordered calmly.
Two bailiffs grabbed Brittany by the shoulders and wrestled her toward the heavy steel holding door. As she was dragged backward, her eyes locked onto mine.
“Rachel!” she howled, her voice bouncing off the high marble ceilings. “You ruined me! You ruined my life!”
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“You ruined yourself, Brittany,” I said softly, loud enough for her to hear before the heavy iron door slammed shut, sealing her in darkness.
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