Page 61 of Client Privilege

I nodded numbly, following them out of the courtroom. As we passedMarcus’s table, I kept my eyes fixed ahead, refusing to acknowledge him. Still, I could feel his gaze tracking me, a familiar sensation that raised goosebumps on my arms.

The conference room was small but private, with windows overlooking the city. Sandra arrived with coffee and sandwiches that no one touched. The waiting felt interminable, each minute stretching into what felt like hours.

“Your closing was powerful,” I told Damian, breaking the heavy silence.

He looked up from his phone, his expression softening slightly. “The evidence was powerful. I just presented it clearly.”

“Do you think they believed me?” The question that had haunted me since I first walked into his office.

Damian considered this seriously. “Some definitely did. I could see it in their faces during your testimony, especially when the medical photographs were presented.”

“But not all of them.”

“Jury dynamics are complex,” he admitted. “Sometimes one or two strong personalities can sway the undecided. That’s why we need a unanimous verdict.”

I nodded, turning to stare out the window. Toronto sprawled below, people going about their normal lives while mine hung in the balance.

An hour passed. Then two. Mitchell paced the length of the room, occasionally checking his phone. Sandra organized and reorganized files that didn’t need organizing. Damian sat perfectly still, only his eyes moving as he watched the clock.

Three hours. My anxiety built with each passing minute. What were they discussing for so long? Had Blackwood’s closing swayed them? Were they divided, arguing over my credibility?

“This is actually a good sign,” Mitchell offered, noticing my increasing agitation. “Quick verdicts usually favour defendants. The longerthey deliberate, the more likely they’re taking the evidence seriously.”

I wasn’t reassured. The waiting was its own form of torture, reminiscent of sitting in Marcus’s apartment, watching the clock, knowing his mood would depend on factors beyond my control.

Nearly four hours after they’d left, Sandra’s phone buzzed. She answered, listened briefly, then looked up. “They’re back.”

My heart lurched painfully in my chest. This was it—the moment that would determine whether the past weeks of exposure and vulnerability had been worth it.

“Whatever happens,” Damian said quietly as we gathered our things, “remember that you’ve already won by speaking your truth. Marcus can’t silence you anymore.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. We filed back into the courtroom, which filled quickly as word spread that the jury had reached a decision. Marcus and Blackwood entered, Marcus’s expression serene with confidence.

Judge Patterson returned to the bench, his face revealing nothing. “I understand the jury has reached a verdict?”

“We have not, Your Honour,” the forewoman replied, her voice tight with tension.

My breath caught. Not reached a verdict? What did that mean?

“Please explain,” Patterson instructed, frowning slightly.

“Despite extensive deliberation, we find ourselves deadlocked. We’ve taken multiple votes and cannot reach the required unanimous decision.”

Judge Patterson’s frown deepened. “How divided is the jury at this time?”

“We are split ten to two, Your Honour, and further deliberation will not change this outcome. Two jurors have stated they will not alter their position under any circumstances.”

A murmur ran through the courtroom. Damian’s hand gripped theedge of the table, his knuckles white.

Judge Patterson sighed heavily. “In light of this information, and after such extensive deliberation, I must declare a mistrial due to a hung jury.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. A mistrial. Neither vindication nor defeat—just… nothing. After everything I’d endured, after exposing my most private pain to public scrutiny, there would be no resolution, no closure, no victory.

“The court thanks the jurors for their service,” Patterson continued. “You are dismissed. This matter may be scheduled for retrial at a later date, should the plaintiff choose to pursue it.”

He shuffled his papers, then looked up with a decisive expression. “Furthermore, given the inconclusive nature of these proceedings and the burden on both parties, I am vacating the temporary protective order effective immediately. Without a clear finding of fact, such restrictions cannot be indefinitely maintained.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. The protective order—my only legal shield against Marcus—gone with a few casual words.

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