Kept Boy to Made Man - 4. Resolved?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Miller.” The friendly tone sounded more predatory than it had when directed at the medical examiner earlier in the day.

“Ah, Hello.” Charlie was immediately caught off guard by the words that were so contrary to the looks he had been receiving previously from his nephew’s attorney.

“You obviously cared a lot for your brother. I also am sorry for your loss.” Roger paused for several seconds, letting the unexpected civility echo through the man’s thoughts.

“I feel the need to remind you that you are under oath, Mr. Miller. It is my job to make sure that all the things you shared with the court are true. The things you said were true, correct?”

“Objection. Harassing the witness.” The ADA was as confused about Roger’s approach as his witness was.

“Counselor?” The judge asked.

“There’s no need to respond, Mr. Miller.

“You clearly know both Elijah and Thomas intimately, as a brother and uncle I mean.” Roger let the subtle innuendo reverberate for several seconds. “You must have spent a lot of time with Elijah and Thomas in their home. How much time would you say that you spent with them on the average week?” Roger started to weave his web.

“Ah, well, we didn’t really spend much time all together, but I’ve known my brother and his son their whole lives.” The man said carefully.

“I see. How many hours would you say you spent with the family in an average week?” Roger asked again.

“Well, less than one I suppose.” Charles Miller’s confidant demeanor wavered.

“So, you spent less than an hour a week with your brother and nephew. Did you spend less than an hour a month with them in their home?”

“Objection. Relevance?” Timothy recognized the growing insinuation.

“Mr. Miller has presented himself as an authority on my client’s life and family. I am simply trying to understand how he came by the observations he shared in such detail.” Roger felt his thread had been placed, no matter which way the judge ruled.

“Overruled. Please answer the question, Mr. Miller,” Judge O’Malley prompted.

“Ah, I guess?” Charles Miller was far from the confident man he had been minutes before.

“You guess. Alright. You spent less than an hour a month interacting with and observing Thomas in his home. Are you aware that homosexuality has been legal in the state of Illinois since 1961?” Roger shifted direction quickly.

“Um, no. I didn’t know the year,” he said.

“Did you know that four years ago, the Chicago City Council passed the Human Rights Ordinance which makes it illegal to discriminate against gay people?” Roger was speaking more to the jury and the reporters in the gallery than to Charles Miller.

“Objection. Relevance?” Timothy wasn’t sure why Roger wasn’t trying to distance his client from the divisive topic.

“Mr. Miller called his nephew disturbed, largely due to his sexual orientation. He clearly believed my client’s sexuality was relevant.” Another thread.

“Overruled.” Christopher O’Malley had presided over several cases argued by Roger Cicero and was familiar with his ability to collapse witness testimony in on itself like a tower of Jenga blocks; he found himself excited to see what the man had planned.

“No need to answer, Mr. Miller. It is true whether you were aware of it or not.

“Now, in all my conversations with my client, he did not once mention your name until he heard you called as a witness today. Do you find that strange?” The attorney asked.

“Kind of, yeah.” Roger could see the man was both relieved and angry.

“Why do you find it strange that Thomas never once mentioned you?” He asked.

“Because he stayed with me a lot. I watched him whenever Elijah wanted a night out or had to travel for work.” Charles Miller found the twists and turns in the questioning disorienting.

“So, you didn’t spend much time with your brother, but he leaned on you to care for his son when he was out of town?” Roger connected several threads.

“Yeah, I suppose.” The man said.

“You said in your testimony that you and Elijah were close, but you didn’t spend time together, apart from him asking you to watch his son?”

“Objection. Argumentative.” The young prosecutor had never witnessed Roger Cicero cross examine a hostile witness, but he knew his reputation.

“Again, I am trying to understand the apparent conflicts in the witness testimony.” Roger said reasonably.

“The objection is overruled. Mr. Miller?” The judge poked.

“Uh, well, we were close before he married Jess.” Roger didn’t miss the anger that flashed in Charles Miller’s eyes; he filed the response away for future use.

As was often the case, everyone in the courtroom was glued to the handsome and charismatic defense attorney. His spell was momentarily broken as the door opened quietly. Detective Juan Ramos and a blue uniformed officer slipped into seats in the back of the gallery. Roger met the detective’s gaze long enough to receive a small nod. The attorney returned his focus to the witness to lay the last few required threads.

“Does your nephew frighten you?” Roger made sure to allow a small amount of scorn and challenge into his tone.

“What? No, of course not!” Charles Miller’s blind pride made him easy to manipulate.

“I see. Earlier you called my client a disturbed and angry kid. You later said he could be impossible to reason with, and that he can get violent. You were not surprised that he killed his father as you have, and I quote, ‘seen his rage building for years.’” Roger turned toward the jury that he had been largely ignoring. “You knew Thomas was a loose cannon. You weren’t surprised that he killed his father. But you were not afraid of him?”

“Objection, your honor. Asked and answered.” Timothy Radcliffe felt his renewed hope for his case crashing down around him again.

“Sustained.” Chris responded quickly, not wanting to throw off whatever cadence Roger’s arguments were marching to.

“You mentioned that Elijah couldn’t control his son. Although the two of you weren’t close after his marriage, your brother turned to you to babysit Thomas. Was that because he was concerned someone would see the bruises he left when he was forced to, and I quote 'physically restrain him for his own safety?'” Roger let a small amount of his anger loose.

“Objection. Leading.” Timothy Radcliffe objected more out of habit than passion; he was only now realizing the extent to which Charles Miller had lied to him.

“Sustained.” Chris O’Malley wanted to know what Roger obviously knew, but he also had a job to do.

“Mr. Miller, you never once, in your twenty-minute testimony, described your personal interactions with your nephew. You only talked about your brother’s challenges with the boy and Thomas’ issues with his father. Did you also find it difficult to control Thomas?” Roger saw Charlie react to the slight emphasis he placed on the word, ‘control.’

The witness stared deeply into Roger’s eye’s before looking again at his nephew. Thomas was still avoiding his uncle as he hid in his chair. Charles Miller responded in a growl without looking away from the teen.

“I have never had trouble controlling my nephew.” The jury could clearly see the same malevolence Roger had seen so briefly before lunch.

It was time. There were more threads Roger Cicero longed to place and connect. He had a complete net, but it was not as elaborate as the legal artist desired to make it. He hoped he would have the pleasure of meeting this man again in the court of law. Roger walked back to stand next to Thomas who was still sitting low in his chair and staring at the table. He turned to face Charles Miller once more.

“You painted my client as quite a horrible and dangerous person, Mr. Miller. Yet you are not scared of him. How is it that you maintain control over such a dangerous person?” Roger’s glare was a clear challenge.

The ADA opened his mouth to object but closed it again. He realized something else was happening in which he had no role to play. The witness remained silent as well as he tried to determine how much the man in the expensive suit knew.

“Tell us about your house rules, Uncle Charlie.” Roger didn’t try to hide the venom.

Thomas took the cue. He slowly sat up straight in his chair and turned to stare at the man he had spent most of his life fearing even more than his father. Gone was the bloodless face and horror-filled eyes. He wasn’t the same person he had been before lunch.

Thomas had shared his deepest hurts and his darkest secrets. Important, powerful people had listened to him and believed him. Charlie’s hold over his nephew had been broken, which was clear in the defiant, unblinking expression the man saw on the face of his nephew.

“You loved Elijah, but not just as your brother. You lost him when he married Jessica. He hated you for what you did to him when he was young. Your abuse made it difficult for him to connect with his son. He knew you wouldn’t turn him in for hitting Thomas, because he would turn on you if you did. But you replaced your little brother with his little son. Homosexuality isn’t illegal, Mr. Miller, but incest and sexual abuse of a child are.” Charlie felt the net ensnare him, and he responded as any cornered predator would.

Charles Miller was a large man, and it took him several seconds to free himself from the witness stand. His eyes were locked onto the man who dared to challenge him, the man who talked about his love for Eli with such distain. He stalked forward, only to be tackled first by the Sid, the Bailiff and then by Thomas’ beer-loving escort.

“I’ll kill you, you faggot-loving bastard. I’ll kill you!” Roger was tempted to call out his hypocrisy but opted to wrap his arm protectively around his client instead.

Most of the gallery was on their feet while the prosecutor, judge, and jury sat open-mouthed and paralyzed.

“Charles Miller, you are under arrest for predatory criminal sexual assault and whatever else I can come up with. You have the right to remain silent…” Detective Ramos read Charles Miller his rights even as the two court officers worked to restrain the large, enraged man.

ADA Radcliffe sat in stunned silence. Judge O’Malley finally raised his gavel and pounded it on the bench several times. It took several minutes for Charles Miller to be removed from the courtroom and several more for order to be fully restored.

“Mr. Radcliffe, despite the excitement, it is still your show. Please call your next witness.” It was still only a quarter after one.

“The prosecution rests, your honor.” There were surprised expressions and whispers at the attorney’s unexpected announcement.

“Gentlemen, approach,” the judge requested; the two attorneys moved quickly to the judge’s bench.

“Roger, it’s still early enough to jump into your witnesses, but I will admit this afternoon has been exciting enough to call a recess until tomorrow. What do you want to do?” He could have made the decision, but Chris preferred to let Roger decide how he wanted to argue the defense’s portion of the trial.

“Thomas has spent four months in an adult jail. I’m inclined to wrap this up today if possible. He’s been through a lot, but I think it would be best for my client if we push through.” Roger knew how tired Thomas must be, but he really didn’t want to send him back to jail for the night if he didn’t need to.

“Very well. Your client is the only witness on your list,” the judge said.

“I also plan to call Brendon Mack from the prosecution's list.” Roger noticed a pained look settle on Tim’s face.

“Brendon was admitted to Mercy Hospital yesterday afternoon, Mr. Cicero.” Timothy said quietly.

“Please Timothy, its Roger or Rog. What happened?” It was not lost on Roger that the ADA had allowed him a lot of leeway towards the end of Charles Miller’s cross; He had earned at least a little of Roger’s respect.

“He told his father that he planned to flip his testimony. He was going tell the jury he was in love with your client from the stand. Brendon’s father forbade him from doing so, and their argument got physical. His father is in custody.” The ADA couldn’t meet Roger’s eyes.

“Well, it looks like I only have one witness your honor; and a new client,” Roger growled.

. . .

“He punched me hard in the face, breaking my nose. I flew across the bed. I was bleeding everywhere and got really dizzy. I heard Brendon choking. When I could see again, my dad was sitting on top of him with his hands around Brendon’s neck. He was strangling him.

“Brendon was hitting and kicking but dad was too big. I grabbed my old t-ball bat that I had hidden by my bed and started hitting my dad. He wouldn’t let go, and I just kept hitting him.” Thomas took several gasping breaths as he wiped his eyes again.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the courtroom. Roger had asked open-ended questions that allowed Thomas to spend almost twenty minutes telling the judge and jury about growing up with an abusive father and uncle. It wasn’t strictly necessary from a case perspective, but Thomas wanted to be free.

Finally, Roger had asked about their Valentines Day date. Gay boys couldn’t enjoy a romantic dinner out like their heterosexual peers, so the couple had planned a special afternoon date in while Elijah was at work. Neither teen had heard the man come home early. They didn’t know they had been discovered until they felt Elijah’s fists.

“He was so mad, and he was screaming that he was going to kill us. He kept calling us faggots. I swung the bat at my dad’s arms as hard as I could. I just wanted Brendon to be able to breath. I broke one of his arms in half, and he finally let go. I almost threw up, but he lunged at me again. I just reacted. I didn’t mean to kill him. I was so scared. I just reacted.” Thomas was crying too hard to continue, and Roger couldn’t stand the idea of making him speak any longer.

“No more questions your honor.” Roger longed to comfort his client but returned to sit alone at the table reserved for the defense.

“Your witness, Mr. Radcliffe,” Judge O’Malley said after Thomas was able to regain at least some control over his emotions.

Timothy didn’t move. Tears ran down his cheeks. His father had been a successful lawyer who was married to his job. His practice was his true love, which left Tim fighting to be noticed. As he thought back over his career and the choices he had made to get to this moment, ADA Radcliffe realized that he was following in father’s footsteps. As much as he resented his father, he was making many of the same mistakes.

The ADA had been so focused on getting a conviction that he had almost destroyed what remained of Thomas’ life. He wondered what might have happened to Thomas, to his own soul, if the infamous Roger Cicero hadn’t magically appeared in the courtroom that morning. Despite what he had been told by his colleagues, the man who had opposed him throughout the trial was someone to be respected and even emulated.

Thomas didn’t need Timothy’s help. The ADA knew he had lost the trial. He also knew he couldn’t pretend to prosecute the devastated young man now staring at him sadly from the stand. Thomas Miller’s life had been so much more difficult than his own. The attorney wanted the opportunity to correct his mistakes, even if it wouldn’t ultimately change the outcome.

“Mr. Radcliffe,” the judge probed.

“The prosecution requests a short recess, your honor,” Timothy said as he held the judge’s gaze.

“Very well, this court is in recess until two thirty. Bailiff?” The judge began to gather his things as the bailiff instructed everyone to rise.

Court rules wouldn’t allow an attorney to consult with his client mid testimony, even during a recess. Roger watched from his seat as Thomas’ guard approached the teen and offered him a napkin to dry his face. The man was attempting to comfort his charge rather than restrain him. He silently thanked his amazing assistant and Giordano’s.

Roger had been watching the jury as his client shared his testimony. He was all but certain they would exonerate Thomas. With that thought, he realized there was one last argument to prepare for if he was going to successfully protect Thomas Miller’s future. He was going to need some help from his staff.

. . .

He signed the check and handed it to the young woman.

“You have it all straight?” He asked nervously.

“Yes, boss. Are you sure about this? The trial isn’t even over yet.” Melissa asked kindly.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve never been so sure about anything.” Roger knew it was time to step out of the cage; he wanted to be free as well.

“I like this kid. This case has been good for you, sir.” Melissa giggled as she slipped Roger’s check into her purse.

“So much for that raise.” Roger joked.

. . .

Roger watched the ADA curiously. The man’s countenance and energy had changed halfway through his cross examination of Thomas’ uncle. He was curious as to why the man had asked for the forty-five-minute recess and what the man had planned for his cross examination of Thomas.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Melissa holding out a thin manila file folder.

“That was fast!” He said in genuine surprise.

“So, is my raise back on the table?” She joked before slipping back into the gallery.

“All rise.” The bailiff again prepared the courtroom for the judge’s entrance.

“Be seated.” Once everyone was settled the judge turned to the ADA again. “The witness is yours, Mr. Radcliffe.”

“Your honor, the State wishes to drop the charge against Thomas Miller and requests the arrest and court records be sealed.” Quiet murmurs ran through the gallery as Judge O’Malley regarded the prosecutor thoughtfully.

Thomas looked towards his lawyer with hope-filled confusion as Roger grinned stupidly back at him.

“I see. Mr. Miller, you may step down and return to your counsel. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I thank you for your service. It appears you will not be needed to render judgement in this case. Bailiff, would you please usher the members of the jury out?” Several minutes later, both the jury box and most of the gallery were empty.

“Thomas, as your attorney has likely informed you, Mr. Radcliffe’s announcement means you are a free man; actually, you are a free minor. And that is something we need to discuss. We need to figure out what to do with you, since you won’t be returning to the jail this evening.” The judge was about to continue when a harried, middle-aged woman rushed into the courtroom.

“I’m sorry your honor, I rushed over as soon as I got the request from the DA’s office,” she said clearly out of breath.

“And you are?” the judge asked.

“Ah, yes, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Mrs. Lundgren; Jean. I’m with Social Services. The DA said I would be needed to take custody of an orphaned teen.” Her words tumbled out quickly as she smiled somewhat stiffly in Thomas’ direction.

The teen in question moved closer to Roger, who automatically wrapped his arm around the young man’s shoulder. Jean Lundgren frowned slightly before returning her focus to Judge O’Malley.

“Your timing is perfect, Mrs. Lundgren. We were just about to begin discussions on what would be best for Thomas.” The judge was about to ask for suggestions when Jean spoke up again.

“Well, I certainly can’t find a foster placement for this evening. There may be a bed available at one of our youth shelters. If not, we will have to place the boy in a juvenile detention facility until something opens up. We reserve our emergency spaces for younger children, I’m afraid.” Jean shifted her oversized shoulder bag and reached out her free arm towards Thomas as she turned to usher him from the courtroom; The look she saw on Roger’s face and his almost growl stopped her progress cold.

“Your honor, as Thomas’ legal counsel, I submit a motion for emancipated minor status.” He tore his eyes from the woman from Social Services and handed the top sheet from Melissa’s folder to the judge.

“Roger, you are possibly the most thorough and prepared attorney I have ever met,” the judge said as he read over the motion. “Purely out of curiosity, what would you do if I refused to consider this?”

“I would request temporary custody myself.” Roger handed the next sheet in the stack to the judge, who laughed.

“Mr. Radcliffe, I know family law is a bit outside your current role, but what are your thoughts on Mr. Cicero’s motion for emancipation?” Chris turned to the ADA curiously.

“Well, your honor, I was the one who argued Thomas should be tried as an adult. It seems hypocritical to oppose the motion from where I’m standing.” The judge nodded.

“Thomas, do you know what emancipation means?” Chris O’Malley looked kindly at the teen in front of him.

“Like when Abraham Lincoln ended slavery?” Thomas asked, causing the judge and two attorneys to grin.

“Yes, that’s it but not quite the same in this case. Emancipation means to be freed from legal restrictions. You are seventeen, which means you are not legally able to make some decisions that an adult can. Being an emancipated minor means you would be considered an adult even though you are not yet eighteen. You’d be free of many of the restrictions our laws place on minors.” Timothy was the one to explain; Roger couldn’t help but think that the young prosecutor would make a good teacher.

“But where would I go? I don’t think I want to go back home.” Thomas sounded suddenly small again.

“That is an important question to answer before I can agree to the motion. It’s Mrs. Lundgren’s job to find you a place to stay if we can’t. Roger has also offered to step in as your guardian, meaning he is willing to take legal responsibility for your well-being until you turn eighteen,” Chris explained.

Roger watched as the stress of the day, of the past four months, caught up to Thomas. It was clear that he was overwhelmed and exhausted. The man stepped in before the teen could break down completely.

“There are a few things you and the judge need to know before a decision can be made. It is important when considering emancipation, to know how you would provide for yourself. I have a few things I’d like to offer you, Thomas. You can accept all of them or none of them regardless of what choices you make now or in the future. I committed to protecting you, and I take that commitment very seriously.

“I want to offer you a job with my firm. It’s an internship which includes university tuition after you complete high school. I also would like to offer you the spare room in my condo for as long or as short as you want it. Lastly, this is for you.” Roger removed the last sheet of paper from the folder and handed it to Thomas.

“You’re giving me money?” Thomas asked incredulously after reading the document.

“Yes, I suppose I am.” The teen launched himself into the older man’s arms, almost knocking them both over.

“May I see what Roger gave you young man?” The judge asked; he studied the paper after Thomas handed it to him.

“This is a trust fund currently worth twenty-five thousand dollars. It stipulates that Mr. Cicero will manage the money for you as the trustee until you turn eighteen or are considered a legal adult. Well played, Mr. Cicero.” Chris nodded towards Roger before turning once again to Thomas. “Do you understand what that means?”

“Yeah, it means I’m rich.” Thomas joked, before turning to Roger with tears forming in his eyes. “Why are you doing all of this for me?”

“Would it offend you to know that I’m actually doing it for me?” Roger eyes grew moist as well. “I want to be free too, Thomas. Whatever it takes. Helping you is helping me as well.”

It was clear to the other two men that something significant was happening beyond the case that had brought them together. The magical moment was shattered by Jean Lundgren.

“I am afraid that my office very much opposes placing children with single men.” She said haughtily, somehow ignoring her previous suggestion of placing Thomas in a juvenile detention facility.

“Well, that settles it as far as I’m concerned. Thomas, I’m going to approve Mr. Cicero’s motion. You will be able to make adult decisions, but keep in mind that you will also be held to adult standards and expectations,” the judge pronounced.

“Well, I’ve had four months to get used to that, your honor,” Thomas said softly.

“Touché, young man. I suppose you have.”

. . .

“Hey, you work for Roger Cicero, right?” Melissa quickly wiped her eyes as she turned towards the unfamiliar voice; her breath caught as her eyes took in the cute woman who owned it.

“Ah, hi, yes. I’m Melissa Motts. Who are you? I mean, what can I do for you?” Melissa blushed as she dropped her eyes in embarrassment.

“I can think of several things you could do for me, but only one that’s appropriate at the moment.” Sam found the young woman’s shyness attractive.

Melissa’s head snapped up as the potentially salacious meaning of woman’s words entered her thoughts. The young woman was thin but solid. She wasn’t classically feminine, but her lack of curves and her punky tomboy look appealed to Melissa greatly. She grew up with money and the expectations that came with high society. The short, spiky hair, tattoos, and Chuck Taylor's somehow worked with the woman's business casual clothes in a way that Melissa would never have imagined. She tore her eyes off the woman’s body only to see the knowing grin on her face.

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” Melissa blushed again.

“I’m not. I just realized that there are two things you can help me with at this moment,” the woman said as she handed a notebook and pen to Melissa. “I need the name of the bank that holds the trust your boss just gave to Thomas Miller, and I need your personal phone number.”

“Um, okay.” In a daze, Melissa wrote both pieces of information down and returned the notebook before realizing that she may have made a serious mistake. “Wait, I probably shouldn’t have given you that information. I don’t even know who you are.”

“Samantha James, but you can call be Sam or baby… And don’t worry, beautiful. Roger asked me to be here today. I’m one of the good girls… Well, not always.” Sam winked as she moved away. “If this really is your number, expect my call.”

Melissa watched the young woman make her way out of courtroom seven. She hadn’t felt like she did at that moment since college. She sighed out loud as Sam disappeared behind the closing door.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump. She turned to see her boss looking nervous and Thomas looking shell-shocked. Setting thoughts of Samantha James aside, she stood and took charge.

“Finished?” Roger nodded. “Then let’s get you boys the hell out of this hell hole.”

. . .

Samantha James almost skipped down the stairs and out of the courthouse building. Melissa Motts looked just like a life-sized Courtroom Barbie. Sam had never felt the desire to play with Barbie’s, but for Melissa she was willing to make an exception. Her old Corolla was a half a block from the courthouse. She dug her keys out of her leather satchel and unlocked the doors.

On a whim, she retrieved her old Pentax SLR from under her seat and checked to make sure it was loaded. She wasn’t really a photographer, but she had taken a couple classes in college. She decided a photo would be required if she wanted that front-page placement. Leaving her bag, she moved back towards the courthouse.

Her timing was perfect. Roger Cicero and Melissa Motts descended the courthouse steps on either side of the young Thomas Miller. They turned away from Sam. She quickly snapped several shots of the trio walking away from the courthouse, perfectly lit by the late afternoon sun. The iconic Chicago skyline could be seen in the distance.

They looked like a beautiful and well-dressed family walking to dinner. Samantha knew they weren’t related, but maybe they were a family just the same. She felt an overwhelming desire to join them but returned to her car instead.

Samantha started the car before pulling out her notebook. She flipped to the page Melissa had written on. The name of a bank and a phone number, written in a neat, but hurried hand. She placed her fingers on the paper. It was a connection and perhaps an invitation to something meaningful. There was more on the line than a paycheck. Sam had work to do.