by Meili Cady
“You seemed pretty upset about it . . .” Henry said. “I just thought you should know that you didn’t lose it. I’m sure it was fake anyway.”
The door to the waiting room popped open, and a female officer in a black-and-gray pantsuit looked rigid as she tilted her head in our direction. She called out Henry’s name in a dry, robotic tone. It was clear that the receptionist had alerted her to our profuse display of emotions in an otherwise emotionally impotent environment, and she wasn’t happy about it. Though there was not a stringent rule against it in our case, Henry and I weren’t supposed to be talking to each other because we were codefendants. He said good-bye to me and disappeared with the officer behind a door. In the months to come, he would be sentenced to nine months in prison and nine months of home confinement.
AFTER MORE THAN A YEAR of living in a legal purgatory with constant drug tests, degrading visits with probation officers, an uncertain future, and severe depression at the thought of going to prison for years, my case was finally scheduled for sentencing in the last week of August 2011.
I flew to Columbus two days before my court date. I met my family at a downtown hotel near the courthouse. My parents and my brother, Nick, had insisted on coming to Ohio to be with me when I faced the judge. I arrived at the hotel late in the evening. My family had already settled into a room with two queen beds and one roll-away bed. I volunteered to sleep on the roll-away bed, but Nick said I’d probably need the sleep more than he would. He had a point, though I didn’t expect to get much sleep regardless. The four of us walked to a restaurant to get a quick dinner, then came back and sat for a while in a small courtyard to the side of the hotel. Nick left to go read a book in the room, and soon after he went, my parents called it a night as well. My dad got up from the outdoor couch he’d been sitting on. “You comin’?” he asked me.
“I’ll be there in a little bit,” I told him.
“All right,” he said. “Probably not too late tonight.”
As my parents went to get ready for bed and watch TV, I was feeling antsy. I needed some fresh air and alone time. I’d been smiling for my family and trying not to appear terrified about what the judge might say. It was becoming difficult to keep pretending. I wanted to sneak away from the hotel for a little while. It wasn’t a bad time to look for a bar and drink away my last night of guaranteed freedom. This was the last night I’d be able to drink before I went to court, as I’d promised my parents I’d be sober tomorrow night for the eve of my sentencing.
I got up from the courtyard and left the hotel through the front door of the lobby. It was around eleven o’clock, and the streets were empty in downtown Columbus. I looked up and noticed dark clouds gathering in the sky above me, but the air was warm and muggy with the heat of the last week of summer. There were no bars in sight, only tall office buildings and hotels.
There’s got to be a bar here somewhere. Where do people go to get a drink?
Nightlife appeared to be scarce here. I was three blocks from the hotel when I felt something wet splash onto my nose, then another on my forehead. It began to rain. A light drizzle turned into a downpour within minutes. My hair was soaked, and drops of water clung to my long-sleeved cotton shirt, making it stick to my body. Beneath the thin cloth of my shoes, my socks were wet from stepping through puddles. I didn’t mind the weather. For some reason it felt right that it would rain tonight. Lightning struck across the sky and I heard thunder somewhere off in the distance. I hadn’t seen a storm like this in a long time. It was beautiful.
The city was like a ghost town. I didn’t know where I was or how far I’d gone from the hotel. I’d been wandering, lost in thought. The sights around me all looked vaguely familiar. This all used to be territory for Team LL, making it feel more like my own personal ghost town. I was haunted by memories of my time in Ohio. It seemed like everything had happened so long ago, but as I walked the streets and looked around at the empty buildings, in my mind I saw scenes from my past playing out again as clearly as if they were happening in front of me.
I approached a bland-looking, grayish building that sat on the bottom of a hill in the city. This was the DEA headquarters where we’d been interrogated. I stopped in front of it on the sidewalk. I remembered being separated from Lisette when the agents walked us in. They took my handcuffs off and led me into another whitewashed room by myself. I remembered looking back at her as I’d gone, and the distant look in her eyes as she stared off at the wall. That was the last time I ever saw Lisette. I’d stood in this same spot on the sidewalk hours later when the agents released the rest of us. We were all free to go, except Lisette. She was the only one who lost her freedom that night, and she hadn’t had it back since then.
When I walked to the top of the concrete hill, I faced another memory—the bar that I’d gone to after being arrested, interrogated, and then abruptly turned back to the streets. It was closed now, but I stepped under its awning, out of the rain, to peer in through the windows. With wet hands cupped to the glass, I saw the bar stool where I’d sat next to Chris Cash as he, Frankie, and I swapped lies Lisette had told each of us. We didn’t know they were lies until that night. I was sitting in that bar drinking whiskey when I finally realized that she was never really my friend. I remembered watching Frankie pace outside of the bar while he spoke to his wife on the phone. That was the only time I’d ever seen him take a drink.
My phone rang inside my purse. The familiar sound brought me back to real time. I stayed underneath the awning and tried to shake the rain off my hand before I took my phone out to answer. It was my father. “Meili, where are you?” he asked me when I picked up. His voice was distant with the sound of the storm all around me. “When I saw the rain, I went to the courtyard and you weren’t there.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I went on a walk.”
“In the rain?” he asked, concerned.
“Well, it wasn’t raining when I started . . .”
“Please, come back to the hotel,” he said. “Your mother wants to go to sleep, and she’s not going to be able to until she knows you’re here safe.”
“I’ll head back now.” I put my phone away and took one last look into the bar before I left.
AUGUST 26, 2011
Mike Proctor joined my family outside the federal courthouse on the morning of my sentencing. He had come to dinner with us the night before and tried to prepare my parents for what they might hear in court today. My family was anxious, but instead of coming undone or being stone-faced, our nerves were coming out in smiles and easy laughter. Mike was amazed at how upbeat we all seemed. As we were going through security at the entrance of the building, my mom said, “Now, we want to remember to take a picture for the Christmas card. I thought today would be good since we’re all dressed up. Mike, maybe you could take a photo of us after we’re done here?” Mike, who was ahead of my mother in the short security line, turned around with a surprised stare.
“You’re not serious,” he said.
“Well, it’s tough to get the four of us all together at once,” my mother said casually as she took her shoes off and placed them in a security bucket for screening.
“Uh . . .” Mike gave an awkward laugh. “Let’s just see how this goes first and then decide if it’s a good day for the Christmas card.”
Once all five of us were cleared through security, we took an elevator upstairs to the floor of the courtroom. When the automated doors opened, I saw Ko sitting by himself on a bench at the end of the hallway. His hands were clasped together with his arms resting on his knees, and his foot was nervously tapping on the floor. He would be sentenced today too. “Just a minute,” I told my family. My parents stayed back to give me privacy while I approached Ko. “Hey . . .” I said as I walked up to where he was sitting. He rose to his feet when he saw me. He was wearing slacks and a nice button-down shirt.
“Hey,” he said. His friendly demeanor hadn’t changed since I’d last seen him, but I could tell that he was just as nervous
as I was. David had recently been sentenced to ten years in prison, and everyone was getting scared to face the judge. Ko and I exchanged few words. We wished each other “good luck” and went our separate ways. I supposed there wasn’t much else to say at this point.
I rejoined my family inside the courtroom as other people around us settled into the pewlike benches. It seemed that no cases had been heard yet today. It was still early in the morning. I sat next to Mike, across the aisle from my parents and Nick. Mike thought it would look better for me to sit separately from them for propriety’s sake. I saw Tim Pritchard sitting with Agent Heufelder nearby. They nodded their heads to acknowledge us. I looked at my mother across the aisle. She shot me a giddy grin, displaying her perfectly white teeth. My father smiled and gave a slight wave from behind her. My brother saw them doing this and chimed in with a reassuring smile in my direction. It occurred to me that perhaps I wasn’t the only one who was trying to put on a brave face.
Ko’s case was one of the first to be called. His hearing didn’t last more than a few minutes. Judge Algenon Marbley sentenced Ko to three years and a day behind bars. The extra day was given to make him eligible to do less time if he behaved well in prison. Ko excused himself from the courtroom shortly after he was sentenced. My family appeared to be shaken up after watching one of my codefendants go before me.
My case number was announced next. Mike whispered to me, “We’re up.” He stood and quickly straightened the jacket of his gray suit. I glanced at my family as I stood. They watched me as I walked into the open court with Mike. We stood side by side in front of Judge Marbley. Tim Pritchard and Agent Heufelder were now standing behind small podiums that faced the judge. The courtroom was silent with anticipation. There were maybe thirty spectators sitting in the pews, including my family and two local reporters, ready to watch everything as it took place.
The formalities began with Judge Marbley asking each of us standing before him to introduce ourselves for the court. Immediately following the introductions, the judge surprised everyone and asked to see Tim Pritchard, Agent Heufelder, Mike, and me for a “sidebar.”
When a judge calls for a sidebar, he is asking to see particular parties, usually the attorneys for both the prosecution and the defense, at an area to the side of the judge’s bench. The judge will then have a private, off-the-record conversation with the parties that is out of earshot of any jurors or spectators present.
When a sidebar was called, it seemed that we were all caught off guard. Mike had told me that this might happen, but he hadn’t expected it to happen before anything else was said. The four of us walked to meet Judge Marbley as he stepped down from his elevated desk. As we went to him, classical music began to play loudly throughout the speakers in the courtroom so that no one could hear what was being said. The spectators whispered and craned their necks to try to see what was happening. My breath quickened and I felt like crying. It was all happening so fast. I tried to maintain my composure, but it was difficult. I stood directly next to the judge as we created a small circle at the sidebar.
He gave me an authoritative once-over before greeting Mike and the prosecution, then wasted no time in getting down to business. “Agent Heufelder,” he said, “would you say that Ms. Cady is the least culpable defendant in this case?” The judge looked at me. I felt a tear coming dangerously close to falling down my face. I tried to be still and hold it all in, but the judge eyed me like he could see right through me. I wiped underneath my eye with my index finger to try to prevent anything from coming out. My nose was starting to run now too. I was a mess, and it was becoming increasingly obvious.
“Your Honor,” Agent Heufelder began, “I’d say—” He stopped abruptly when Judge Marbley put up his hand to prevent him from going on. Agent Heufelder seemed stunned.
“Excuse me,” the judge said. He turned and walked out of our circle and back to his bench. Mike and I looked at each other, then at the prosecution. Everyone appeared to be just as confused as I was, which made me even more nervous. The judge returned after a moment holding a box of tissues. He walked directly up to me and held them out. It dawned on me that he was offering me a tissue. I gently pulled one out of the box. He continued to hold it out. I took one more. “Thank you,” I said meekly.
What a nice man. Or . . . maybe he is just being practical because he’s about to sentence me to years behind bars and he knows that I’ll have plenty more to cry about. Maybe he doesn’t want me to be blubbering all over his courtroom floor.
He turned back to Agent Heufelder. “Go ahead,” he said calmly. “Would you say Ms. Cady is the least culpable defendant in this case?”
Agent Heufelder looked the judge in the eye as he answered, “No, Your Honor, I would not say that.”
Henry is the least culpable.
The judge tilted his head to look at me. “Hmm,” he said. He turned his attention back to the men in our circle and said, “Well, all right. I have a sentence in mind.” My heart sank into my stomach. I felt myself losing hold of the hope I’d been clinging to.
Sidebar was over. The classical music stopped and the prosecution, Mike, and I returned to our original positions facing the front of the courtroom.
Once the judge was seated again, he asked me if I had anything I’d like to say before he announced his decision. I apologized to my family, acknowledged the mistakes I’d made, and thanked Mike and the prosecution for their patience with me. To my amazement, I was able to get through the entire statement without my voice shaking too much or cracking from emotion. I guess all those acting classes had finally paid off. I couldn’t let my parents see me break down now.
As Judge Marbley spoke leading up to his formal announcement of my sentence, it became obvious that he planned to sentence me to time behind bars. I’d known for a long time that this was probably going to happen, but it became real to me in a way that I wasn’t necessarily prepared for when I heard him say things like, “The sentence I impose upon you will be harsh enough, by way of incarceration, that it will limit your ability to commit another crime . . .” I felt my knees tighten, then suddenly release and become increasingly weak.
I’m going to pass out. I am literally going to prison. This is happening. I’m going to pass out right here, in the middle of the courtroom, while the judge is still talking . . .
I wanted to reach to my side and grab hold of Mike’s arm to stop myself from falling. I could feel my family’s undivided attention as they watched from their seats. The lightness in my knees crept up my legs and began to make its way through my entire body. I’d passed out a few times in my life, and I knew the telltale signs when it was about to happen. I did not want to faint.
What if the judge thinks I’m faking it and he tacks on a few more years to my sentence?
I focused on breathing as I tried to stop the light, tingly feeling from spreading.
Then again, maybe it would be better to be unconscious for this . . .
I braced myself to hear a sentence of more than a year.
Please don’t let it be more than a year . . .
One year and one day would mean that I’d be eligible to be locked up for less than a year. My knees began to fold, and I knew I had less than a minute before I was going to pass out. I couldn’t hold on much longer. I watched the judge as he talked, but I couldn’t process what he was saying because all I could think about was what he was going to say next, and whether it was going to happen before I hit the floor. Then finally, after the longest few minutes of my life, my wait was over.
I held my breath as he began. “Ms. Cady, I sentence you to thirty days in custody, three hundred sixty-five days of home confinement, and three years of probation.” Mike’s energy beside me completely changed. I sensed his relief, though we didn’t look at each other and we kept our faces to the judge. When the judge finished with a few closing remarks, I took in a long, deep breath of air. The tingly sensation in my legs began to fade. As the judge left his bench and walked off, I
watched him for a moment with a feeling of deep gratitude. He had given me a second chance. I couldn’t have hoped for a better sentence. I was dismissed and free to go. Free. Well, not exactly free yet, but much closer to freedom than I’d expected. I’d been afraid that I’d be sentenced to five years and dragged screaming out of court by armed officers while my family watched on in horror.
The moment we were dismissed, Mike turned to me with a grin. “Now go hug your mom,” he said quietly. I rushed to the back of the courtroom, dodging people in my path, to where my family was now standing in the aisle waiting for me. I threw my arms around my mother. We were all overwhelmed with relief. My dad pulled me in for a tight hug. I noticed a glisten in his eyes. “It’s over,” he said.
We left the courthouse and returned to our hotel to unwind and celebrate. Mike Proctor had become more than just my attorney over the year and a half that I’d known him. He was now a close friend, and someone my family would always hold dear. He joined us in the courtyard of the hotel. My mother brought out a liter of whiskey from the room, an ice bucket, and five tumbler glasses from the hotel bar. “I bought this yesterday,” she said with a smile as she filled each glass with ice and a pour of whiskey. “I figured that whichever direction things went in court, we’d probably want to have it handy.”
“Yeah, for very different reasons . . .” Mike laughed. We all nodded and exchanged grave looks with one another. We knew how close I’d come to going to prison for years. Mike raised his drink for a toast. We joined him. After taking a sip, he set his glass down. “Hey, do you still want that Christmas card photo?”
“Oh, yes!” my mom said, getting excited. “Thanks for remembering.”
Mike shook his head with a smile. “I thought you were joking when you said that before.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” my mother said.
We slid the whiskey bottle out of frame and huddled as a family on the outdoor couch. Mike snapped a photo that would be my parents’ official Christmas card of 2011, taken by my attorney just hours after I was sentenced to serve time in federal prison. Months later, my mother would take this photo into Costco to have fireworks Photoshopped into the background and add a disproportionately large image of my brother’s girlfriend’s head, so that it looked like she had been there too. My parents would send this Christmas card to all their friends with absolutely no sense of irony, much to the amusement of my brother and me.
