Chapter 10 - Harvard On White Paper
I didn't touch the papers. That was the rule I'd set for myself before I even stood up that morning, and I held to it with everything moving around me.
The counsel table felt solid under my palms. The microphones were too close and picked up every breath I took. I could see the attorney out of the corner of my eye, waiting for me to overreach. I could see the officer behind him, arms at his sides, eyes fixed forward. I turned just enough to find her in the row behind me.
She was still holding them the way she'd held them since we'd walked in. Both hands. White papers squared together against her chest, over her light blue scrubs. The stethoscope had slipped a little to one side. Her eyes were wet but she wasn't looking down anymore. She was looking at me.
"Your Honor," I said, "with the court's permission, I'd like to identify a physical item already present in this room."
The judge didn't answer right away. He shifted back in his chair behind that high wood bench, the seal dark behind his shoulder, the flag still to his right. He studied me like he was deciding how much rope this was.
"Identify," he said.
I didn't move toward her. I kept my hands on the table so everyone could see I wasn't reaching for anything. "I'd ask that the woman in scrubs in the second row be allowed to hold up what she's been holding since this hearing started. For identification only. Not to pass forward. Not to read from. Just so the court can see what it is."
The attorney turned in his chair. "Your Honor, we don't even know who —"
"I know she's been sitting there," the judge cut in. He glanced past me toward the gallery. "Ma'am, stand up for a second."
I heard the bench creak as she stood. I didn't turn all the way. I didn't want it to look like I was signaling her. I kept my eyes on the bench.
"Hold them up where I can see them," the judge said. His voice had dropped out of the mocking tone. It was flat now. Procedural.
There was a soft sound of paper shifting. Her hands were shaking, I could hear it in the way the pages brushed against each other. Then she lifted them chest-high, facing out.
From where I stood I couldn't see the front page straight on. But I saw the change in the judge's face. His eyes narrowed and his mouth stopped moving. He leaned forward a fraction over the bench.
The attorney leaned forward too, his tie swinging a little as he twisted to look back over his shoulder. He squinted, then his head tilted.
"What am I looking at?" the judge asked.
I swallowed. The microphone caught it. "Your Honor, for the record, can the court describe what it sees?"
The judge gave a short breath through his nose. He didn't like being directed. "White papers," he said. "Held by the witness. There's printing at the top."
He paused.
I waited. I didn't fill the silence. My heart was beating hard enough I felt it in my wrists against the wood.
"It says Harvard University," the attorney said quietly, almost before he meant to. He cleared his throat. "At the top of the page."
The officer looked on then. He turned his head toward the gallery, following where everyone else was looking. He didn't step forward. He just watched her hands and the white pages she held up.
The woman didn't speak. She held the papers steady, both hands on the bottom edge now, so the top line stayed visible. Her chin trembled once, but she kept them up.
"Harvard University," the judge repeated. He looked from the papers to me. "All right. They're white papers with that label. So what?"
That was the question I'd been waiting for and dreading at the same time.
"They've been in her possession this entire hearing, Your Honor," I said. "From before you called the case. She brought them from work. She hasn't handed them to me. She hasn't handed them to anyone."
The attorney shifted. "Your Honor, a header doesn't make something relevant."
"I'm not asking the court to admit them yet," I said quickly. I raised my right hand just a little, palm down, to hold my place. "I'm only asking that the record reflect what the court just saw. White papers. Labeled Harvard University. Held continuously by the woman in scrubs."
The judge looked at the court reporter, then back at the papers. "Record will reflect a woman in the gallery is holding white papers bearing those words," he said. "No ruling on admissibility. No ruling on relevance."
He nodded once toward the gallery. "You can lower them, ma'am. Sit down."
I heard her exhale as she sat. The papers came down with a faint rustle and settled back against her scrubs. She folded them close again with both hands.
May you like
The judge's eyes came back to me. "You wanted them seen," he said. "They've been seen. Now tell this court what you claim they prove."
I kept my hands on the table. I didn't answer yet. The label was out in the open now, and the whole room had heard it, but the meaning was still where I'd left it — with her, unexplained, waiting for the next step.
