Yet the true conclusion of this nightmare never unfolded during the evening news broadcasts.
It happened three days afterward inside a private, maximum-security hearing room in the heart of the city.
Abigail sat beside me, dressed in a high-neck sweater hiding her !njuries, while my heavy military jacket rested across her shoulders.
“I want them to see that they did not k!ll me,” she had told me before we walked in.
Across the polished mahogany table, the Ferguson family sat together in silence like convicted prisoners.
Nicholas appeared noticeably smaller and thinner, his expensive suit hanging awkwardly from his weakened frame.
Gregory looked furious and eager for another fight, while Patricia remained as cold and untouchable as she had always been.
She genuinely believed she could still talk her way free using nothing but influence.
The judge entered the hearing room, and the atmosphere instantly became almost impossible to breathe through.
