Four days of trial against Miller Industries, and we gave it all we got. But it wasn’t us who truly won that case. It was the testimonies of the victims who lived that day. Clara Hill may have been the only one strong enough to stand up to Miller Industries in the beginning, but her death gave those too scared to come forward the strength to tell their stories.
“Can you please state your name for the record.”
“Phillip Hensley, sir.” A middle-aged man, wearing a worn suit and boots sits up straighter on the stand.
“And Mr. Hensley, can you please state for the record your line of work with Miller Industries?”
There’s an excruciating amount of pain that radiates from his tired eyes at the mention of Miller Industries. “I was hired as the construction manager. Benjamin Miller had approached me at my home to work on the upcoming job site.”
“And what did he offer you?”
Phillip takes a gander at the jury, then back to me. “He offered to double my salary. I’d been at the paper mill for over thirty years. But my wife…Virginia…she had cancer. We were struggling to pay for treatments. She was a fighter, but without more money, we were going to have to stop her chemo.”
I take a breath, allowing him the same opportunity. “Was there anything else?”
He nods. “Yes. He offered us treatment. He said he knew doctors who could help my Virginia. If I left the mill and took the job, he would get us the income we needed. Virginia would get better.” His voice cracks, right along with my heart knowing how this story ends.
“What happened when you took the job?” He adjusts himself in his seat, feeling the discomfort as Benjamin Miller sits at the defense table staring him down. “It’s okay. Go on…”
“Production started. People got right to work. Men were distributed to specific jobs, some of which never had experience in job labor.” He takes a moment. “I did what I was hired to do: watch over the construction, and make sure men were working fast and diligently. Mr. Miller had offered me a bonus if the job was completed before the expected timeframe.”
“And what was that?” I ask.
“Six months. Which all seemed impossible. This building he was fixin’ to build, it was massive, and he had nowhere near the amount of manpower needed to complete it in such a time.”
I walk around my table, toward the jury. “And did you ever express your concerns about this to Mr. Miller?”
His expression morphs into anguish. “No. I was too worried about losing my job. You see, Mr. Miller was a powerful man. He didn’t take lightly to anyone questioning him. I tried to speak up in the beginning simply about the safety of some of the men in the pit. That night, I received a call that our payment had not been received for insurance. I’d gotten the hint right away. I was to do my job.” He pauses, torment almost taking his breath. “I just kept thinking of my Virginia. I thought if I just kept my business to myself, the building would be up in no time and my wife would be better. We’d take the extra money and go on a trip. We’d never been outside Crete.”
I let the jury take a moment to digest his statement before continuing. “Mr. Hensley, where were you the day of the explosion?” The jurors sit straighter, their ears pinging at my question.
A storm of emotions shifts through his eyes, a current of pain he’ll forever bear. “I was at the front of the site. There was some sort of hold up that morning. Clifford Winters and one of Benjamin’s watchdogs were arguing. Clifford came from the pit saying it smelled off. He’d also been at the mill with me and was familiar with gases. Told the man they needed to send someone to check it out. The man threatened Clifford’s job if he didn’t get back to work. Clifford refused, and they started to get physical. Before any fists were swung, the floor shook beneath us, and then the ground exploded.”
Phillip pauses, and I take two steps closer to the stand, giving him my silent support. “And then what happened?”
He swallows, struggling to find the words to explain the travesty he lived through. “The explosion knocked us three off our footing. When I lifted myself off the ground, my eyes were struck with horror. A ball of flames shooting from the center of the site. The screaming. So much screaming. Like a whistle in the wind, carrying the shrieking voices of men everywhere. Clifford was up and running toward the disaster. I screamed for him not to get closer, but he didn’t listen. His sons…his two sons were down there.” Phillip’s voice breaks, his hand going to his mouth to hide the choked sob.
“Mr. Hensley, can you tell the jury what you saw next?”
Tears fall down his frail cheeks, his hand wiping at his scarred face, third degree burns forever etched in his skin. “I ran too. I got close enough until the flames were too much. So many bodies. Men on fire running in all directions. Men succumbing to the flames and collapsing to their death. Samuel, my best…my best friend since grade school, he pulled himself from the rubble. He was burned, flames covered his back. I threw my shirt off and tried to put out the flames, but it was no use.”
“Did Samuel survive?”
“No. He died in front of me that day.”
“Thank you. I know that was hard to relive.” I shift toward the jury. “Lives, thirty-four of them to be exact, died along with Samuel Gunner that day. Eleven men. Twenty-four, barely eighteen years of age. Children. All hired illegally under the hands of Benjamin Miller. A suicide mission to benefit his pocketbook.” I adjust my body and point to Benjamin Miller. “The man who sits in front of us knew the risks of breaking ground, the risk of disturbing uninhabitable land. What would have happened if that building had been fully developed? How many other innocent lives would have been lost if something, say a simple shift in the earth, triggered that natural gas? Should we ask the businessman who only cared about the dollar signs? A ruthless entrepreneur who not only walked away without a care, but tried to cover up his wrongdoings with blackmail, taking more lives.”
I take a short pause to let those words settle in, then turn to Phillip. “Mr. Hensley, after the incident, what came of your healthcare?”
A lifetime of sorrow weighs heavily on his shoulders, a sadness ripping through the courtroom and felt by all. “It all but stopped. My Virginia is with God now.”
“No further questions, your honor.”
“Can you state your name for the record?”
“Sherman Wilson.”
I face the jury. “Sherman Wilson, forty-two years old. Married to Bethany Wilson for twenty-five years. He’s a father to thirteen-year-old daughter, Sylvie, who was diagnosed with severe autism spectrum disorder at three, and seven-year-old, Becca, diagnosed at age two with high functioning Asperger’s. You all can imagine the journey these two parents have endured raising two amazing, unique children on a labor man’s salary.” I pause for a moment before bringing my focus to Sherman. “Mr. Wilson, can you tell the jury where you were the day of the explosion?”
The burly man stretches his neck to make eye contact with Benjamin Miller. The two men battle in a stare down. Anger. Loss. Regret. They shine in Sherman’s eyes as he recalls that day. “I was on site. I was in the pit breaking up a dispute between some of the veteran crew and the kids.”
“By kids, do you mean the younger laborers?”
“Yes, sir. Kids. They were barely legal to work on a site like that. Just the day before, a kid lost control of the skid-steer loader, sending a man to the hospital. Drilled into the wrong area and hit a crewman, slicing his leg right off.” There’s an intake of breath from the jury as Sherman builds them a gruesome mental picture.
“I can’t imagine. From your experience, did the crew lack experience?”
“Damn right they did. They were kids. They shouldn’t have been there. No experience causes lots of accidents. For everyone onboard.”
The defense stands. “Your honor, he’s belaboring the point here.”
Judge Foster eyes me. “Mr. Dent, let’s get to the point of your question.”
I nod. “Mr. Wilson, the day of the ac
cident, Jason Stone was operating the drill rig that caused the accident, correct?”
“That’s right.”
I turn to the jury. “Jason Stone, age seventeen, employed by Miller Industries. Never worked a day in construction in his young life. He had no background or knowledge of the trade. Before being hired on by Benjamin Miller with the promise of a prosperous future, Jason Stone had just graduated high school. He held a 4.0 GPA and would be the first of his family to attend college in the fall. His passion was football and science. He donated his time to the local charities and pet adoption center in town.” I bring my attention back to the witness. “Mr. Wilson, can you describe the morning for the jury?”
“I had just come up the freight elevator from the pit minutes before the explosion. Like I said, everyone was heated over the experience barrier. They wanted something done.”
“And what was that?” I ask.
“Pull them kids off the site. No money was worth the safety of the crew. The accident with the skid and Hank rattled us all. Even the young ones were spooked. But it seemed everyone in some sort of way had been roped in by Miller Industries. They just wanted to get the job done and collect what they were promised.”
I take a step closer to Sherman. “Were you promised anything?”
He struggles to hide the guilt. “You see, it ain’t easy trying to raise two girls who need so much. Sylvie—”
“Objection. The counsel is misleading the witness testimony. This has no bearing on the case at hand.”
“Overruled. Mr. Wilson, answer the question.”
Sherman nods, inhaling a hollow breath. “He offered to increase my pay. Pay off medical bills we were drowning in. He told Bethany they planned on putting a daycare in the lower level of the building and she would be able to find work. She would be able to bring the girls there for free.”
I turn on my heel and head back to the table to grab the blueprints Jim hands me. “At this time, I would like to submit exhibit one as evidence.” I hold the blueprint up for the jury. “I show you today the blueprints submitted to city hall by Miller Industries. You have all been given a copy of the layout. Please note the first-floor zoning layout.” I shift to hold eye contact with Sherman. “There is no projected plan for a daycare of any sort.”
Sherman breaks eye contact with me, his chin dipping as his eyes close. The jurors share in the gutting of betrayal by Benjamin Miller.
“Mr. Sherman, I only have two more questions, then I will let you get back to your family. Can you state for the jury the injuries you sustained the day of the accident?”
The question summons memories. Sherman’s throat bobs, choking down the painful recollection of that day. “I was about twenty yards from the pit when it exploded. The pressure shot me forward, and I slammed into the digging trencher. The blades ripped right through my leg and arm, damaging my nerve endings where I no longer have use of most of my right side. I have third degree burns down ninety percent of my back. I’m lucky to even be alive.”
I take a moment to allow them to process his life changing injuries before addressing the jury. “A man who got up every single day to support his family, his children who need him, now fights every day just to get out of bed. He is no longer able to support the needs of his children’s health, nor pay the necessities of a home, food, and care. That day took everything from this family. A fake promise from a man only seeing dollar signs for his own benefit.” I take a deep breath and speak to Sherman. “Where are your children now?”
Sherman stares at me, his eyes filling with sadness and pain. “In a state facility.”Betrayed and heartbroken, he slumps in his chair. “We had to forfeit parental rights because we didn’t have the means to take care of them.”
“No further questions, your honor.”
There’s a round of audible gasps and shock as our last witness takes the stand. No doubt because it’s hard to see. Even I struggle to hide the guilt and remorse for what he’s endured.
“Can you please state your name for the record?”
He brings a device up to his trachea, his prosthetic voice helping him speak. “Caleb Johns.”
“Caleb, can you tell the jury how old you are?”
“I’m sixteen, sir.” This shocks the jury, with a noticeable intake of breath coming from their section.
“Wow, sixteen. You have your whole life ahead of you still.”
A flash of anger etches behind his deformities. “What future? He took that away from me.” He viciously points to Benjamin Miller.
“And in the eyes of the judicial system, we’re here to see your pain and suffering be compensated. It may not take back what you sustained that day, but it will offer you some guidance for your future. Please, would you describe your experience the day of the accident?”
No one can prepare for the horrific scenes Caleb is about to describe. “I was late for work that morning. My mom…she’s… she was pregnant and wasn’t feeling well. It’s just us, so I didn’t want to leave her all alone. When I got to work, I snuck in behind the site trailers. Mr. Miller had eyes everywhere and I couldn’t afford to get fired with a little brother or sister on the way.” He pauses, the tube in his neck helping him take a breath. “I was scheduled to work the rig that morning. I watched some videos the night before to make sure I knew exactly how to operate it. Since I was late, they threw Jason on it. I’d just made it to the machine and was flagging him down so we could switch. He shouldn’t have been up there. If I hadn’t been late, he wouldn’t have—”
Caleb starts coughing, and I reach for the glass of water on my table and offer it to him. He attempts a sip, but it doesn’t mask the horrified sob that erupts from his chest. “I distracted him. When he turned to look at me, he must have hit a lever. The crane holding a beam released, sky-falling straight into the pit. A cloud of red, yellow, and orange burst up from the center, the echoes of screams and cries with it. The flames ripped through the site. I was blown backwards into a pile of dirt. I was able to get up, but the fire was so intense, my skin started to burn. My first thought was to get to Jason, but when my eyes focused where I last saw him, the only thing I saw was flames. The entire rig was on fire, he was still inside.”
Caleb stops, putting his finger up, silently asking for a moment. “Everything went up in flames. Every two seconds, it felt like an explosion went off. The fire took no pity, consuming every crew member in that pit. No one down there had a chance of surviving. The ones who did were trying to save others or save themselves. But it was no use. I fought like hell to get up, even though I knew my leg was broken. There was movement off to the side, and I needed to help whoever was there.”
“Were you able to get to that person?”
His eyes tear up and what’s left of his lower lip quivers. “It was Kellen Winters. He was missing his two legs. Half his face was blown off. His eyes...they were vacant. He…I wasn’t able to save him. I couldn’t save anyone.” A guttural sob ruptures from his chest, and I watch as horror washes over the faces of the twelve jurors.
“Caleb, would you like to take a minute?” I ask.
He shakes his head, wiping at his face. “No. I want to finish.” With his inhaler for assistance, he takes a deep breath. “Before I could do anything else, shards of debris shot through the air in all directions. A shard of glass struck me in my left eye, and three shattered into my face. The foundation started to collapse, and I thought I was as good as dead. I managed to drag myself far enough to where I avoided being crushed by a burning beam. I almost made it to the gates when I was struck in the back with flying debris. I tripped and landed on a burning body, the flames taking ninety-percent of my skin off.”
Caleb’s face is unrecognizable. His skin was charred down to his bones, unable to be rebuilt, even after multiple skin grafts. He will forever hold the burden of that day every time he looks in the mirror. “Caleb, did your mother give you a sister or a brother?”
His face transforms into a blank void. “My mother
gave birth two months early. The stress of the accident was too much for her. The baby was in distress. She had a girl. They both died during childbirth.”
Seven witnesses testified. Seven horrified victims who relived that day, the loss and the struggle.
In the end, Benjamin Miller was found guilty of thirty-five counts of first-degree murder. Twelve counts of attempted murder. Not to mention, violation of environmental law, corporate fraud, antitrust violations, and bribery. Benjamin Miller won’t step foot on free land ever again. We were happy with the victory, each family being rewarded a substantial amount in damages. It won’t bring back their loved ones, but it will help their future and to rebuild.
Today’s trial is to bring forth all the horrible things Connor did and sentence him for his crimes in the Miller lawsuit, as well as his wrongdoings with Hannah and Clara Hill. It fucking guts me thinking about how she’ll have to stand on trial and relive her time in Clara Hill’s home for the jury. Jim was out of his mind when she suggested it. He wanted her nowhere near him. We would win the case without her testimony and send Connor to jail for a very long time, there was no doubt about that. But of course, the little warrior wanted to take the stand. She said telling her story would help her move on.
Fuck that.
Even I fought it. Night after night, leading up to this day, going to bed angry. Her body quietly crying next to me and me giving in, cradling her in my arms, needing her to understand why I couldn’t put her on that stand. In return, she would shift and face me, the shadow in her eyes that have refused to go away since the incident telling me this was why she needed to.
“Hannah, deep breaths. You’re safe, baby. No one’s going to hurt you.” I wait for her eyes to focus and take in her surroundings. Her fingers clench the sheets in a death grip, and the faint scent of lavender begins to replace the smell of smoke.
“Levi.” The pain in her voice when she says my name kills me every time. It makes me want to call this whole fucking thing off. Tie her to the bed until the trial is over and take the punishment of her anger later. How can I put her through this?
Chicks, Man Page 27
