Chapter 6 The Unforgiving Truth

After the doctors had declared Orla's time of death, Liora and Alaric found themselves enveloped in the cold sterility of the hospital's mortuary. The room was stark, its walls painted in white, and the faint hum of fluorescent lights added to the oppressive atmosphere. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic, a constant reminder of the clinical environment. As they sat at a metal table, they were presented with the death certificate. The document, filled with medical jargon and official terminology, seemed surreal. Their hands trembled as they gripped the pens, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. Each signature felt like an insurmountable task, a final acknowledgment of their profound loss.

Amidst this heart wrenching process, as they discussed arrangements for Orla's resting place, Liora's phone vibrated in her pocket. The sudden intrusion felt jarring in the somber setting. Glancing at the caller ID, she saw it was the police department. Exchanging a brief, questioning look with Alaric, she answered. The voice on the other end informed her that they had apprehended the driver responsible for the hit and run that had taken Orla's life. The officer's tone was formal, yet there was an underlying current of empathy. He explained that the case was now in the hands of the prosecutors for further investigation. The news elicited a complex mix of emotions: a fleeting sense of justice, quickly overshadowed by the raw pain of their loss.

Upon completing the mortuary formalities, the bereaved parents made their way to the courthouse, a grand building with imposing columns and an air of gravitas. The architecture, designed to inspire respect and solemnity, now felt cold and unwelcoming. Their footsteps echoed in the vast marble hallways as they approached the courtroom, each step amplifying their anxiety. They were eager, yet apprehensive, to face their child's killer. To their astonishment, the accused was a high profile politician-a deputy prime minister known for his charismatic public personal and philanthropic endeavors. The revelation was staggering. How could someone of such stature be involved in this tragedy? The dissonance between his public image and the current accusation was jarring. A trial date was promptly set, the legal machinery moving swiftly, yet to Liora and Alaric, time felt distorted, each moment stretching interminably.

Determined to uncover the truth and perhaps find some semblance of closure, Alaric initiated his own investigation. He was acutely aware of the political power the deputy prime minister wielded and the potential obstacles this could present. He began by seeking out the CCTV footage from the vicinity of the accident. Visiting local businesses, he requested access to their security recordings. Some proprietors were cooperative, offering their condolences and assistance, while others were hesitant, citing privacy concerns. When he finally obtained some footage, his heart sank. The relevant segments were either missing or corrupted. Undeterred, he turned his attention to the vehicle's black box, hoping it might hold crucial data. However, upon examination, he discovered that it had been meticulously wiped clean. The level of precision indicated a professional job, suggesting a deliberate effort to erase any incriminating evidence. Even his company's advanced restoration techniques, which had previously salvaged data from seemingly hopeless cases, couldn't retrieve the erased information. The realization was disheartening. It became evident that powerful forces were at play, manipulating the narrative and obstructing justice.

The trial day arrived, bringing with it a storm of emotions. The courtroom was a cavernous space, filled with polished wooden benches and adorned with symbols of justice. The air was thick with tension, a noticeable mix of anticipation and unease. Liora was summoned to the witness stand, a solitary chair that suddenly felt overwhelmingly intimidating. The weight of countless eyes upon her intensified her anxiety. Following the testimony of the doctor-a seasoned professional with graying hair and a compassionate demeanor, who had stated that Orla might have survived if she had received medical attention sooner, Liora faced a series of probing questions from the defense attorney.

The lawyer, a sharp dressed man with a piercing gaze and an air of practiced confidence, approached. His tone was courteous, yet there was an undercurrent of challenge. "Mrs. Liora," he began, "were you not scheduled to be in the neighboring city at the time of the incident?"

Liora, her voice trembling yet resolute, responded, "Yes, but my husband called to inform me that our child was unwell, so I had to canceled my trip."

The lawyer nodded, as if considering her words. "I see. Upon arriving the airport, did you proceed directly home from the airport?"

"Yes," Liora affirmed, her mind replaying the sequence of events.

The lawyer's eyes narrowed slightly. "Upon reaching your residence, did you secure the gate?"

Liora hesitated, her brow furrowing as she delved into her memories. The day's events were a blur, emotions clouding her recollection. "I... I can't recall. My thoughts were consumed with concern for my daughter's health at that moment."

The lawyer turned to the court, his voice taking on a performative edge. "Ladies and gentlemen, let us consider this: the defendant, the deputy prime minister, did not abandon the child. On the contrary, he attempted to take Orla to the hospital. However, upon realizing she was no longer responsive, he panicked and fled the scene."

A murmur rippled through the courtroom. The defense had shifted the narrative, painting the accused as a man who had acted out of fear rather than malice.

The judge, an older man with a weathered face, listened impassively. The weight of the case bore heavily upon him, but he was bound by the evidence-or the lack thereof.

After deliberation, the court found the deputy prime minister not guilty.

The words echoed in Liora's mind, each syllable hammering into her consciousness. Her vision blurred, and a high pitched ringing filled her ears. The courtroom seemed to close in around her as she struggled to process the reality of the situation. The carefully woven threads of justice unraveled before her eyes.

Alaric's fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening with suppressed fury. Liora, unable to contain the overwhelming surge of emotions, gasped for breath, her chest constricting painfully.

The deputy prime minister, flanked by his legal team, stood gracefully, adjusting his cuffs as if the trial had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. His expression was unreadable, but the slight upturn of his lips sent a chill down Liora's spine.

The weight of injustice settled upon her shoulders like an unbearable burden. Was this how the system worked? Was this what power could do?