Chapter 7 - THE TRIAL OF DR. MERCER
The courthouse filled every morning.
Doctors.
Reporters.
Neighbors.
Former patients.
Some carried signs supporting Julian.
Others supporting Natalie.
The girls never attended most proceedings.
That was intentional.
Their lives were not public property.
June protected that fiercely.
---
The prosecution began with Maya’s hospital bloodwork.
Then the syringe.
Pharmacy records.
Julian’s false statement that he had given hydroxyzine.
The actual compounded clonidine.
Repeated prescriptions.
Deleted dosing notes.
Then Natalie.
Video.
Notebook.
Pharmacy refill.
Smartwatch.
Red cup.
Neighbor footage.
Each piece alone had ambiguity.
Together, they formed a story.
---
Julian’s defense attacked Natalie’s mental health.
Exactly as she feared.
They pointed to anxiety diagnoses.
Marital conflict.
Sedative prescriptions.
Her recorded fear.
“Isn’t it possible Natalie was catastrophizing?”
The expert answered:
“Anxiety does not fabricate pharmacy records.”
That line spread everywhere.
---
They attacked the children’s memories.
Correctly noting inconsistencies.
Elena once said the red cup was on the counter.
Another time near the sink.
The prosecutor did not pretend children were perfect witnesses.
Instead, she said:
“We do not ask you to convict because a seven-year-old remembers a cup.”
Then she lifted the pharmacy record.
“We ask you to consider why her memory led investigators to physical evidence that actually contained the drug.”
That was stronger.
---
Julian testified.
Against advice, apparently.
He needed control.
Even in his own trial.
He explained everything.
Maya?
Sleep problems.
Natalie?
Anxiety.
The red cup?
Shared household use.
The notes?
Clinical brainstorming.
The false missing-child timeline?
Panic.
The wrong drug name at the station?
Stress.
The intercepted grandmother contact?
Therapeutic boundaries.
Each explanation was possible.
All together, the jury had to decide whether coincidence had become absurd.
---
Then the prosecutor asked:
“Dr. Mercer, did your wife plan to leave you?”
“No.”
She displayed the custody document Natalie had drafted.
Julian stared.
“Did you know about this?”
“No.”
Then an email appeared.
From Julian to his attorney, dated five days before Natalie’s death:
If Natalie attempts to leave with the girls, what emergency custody options do I have?
The courtroom changed.
He knew.
Julian whispered:
“I was preparing.”
“For what?”
“Conflict.”
“Exactly.”
---
Then the prosecutor played Natalie’s video.
Julian watched his dead wife say:
“If something happens to me, do not believe the first story.”
For the first time all trial, his face broke.
Not guilt necessarily.
Something.
Loss?
Exposure?
Fear?
The jury saw it.
---
After six weeks, they deliberated.
Nine hours.
Verdict:
Guilty on the principal child-abuse and poisoning-related counts.
Guilty on obstruction and evidence-related charges.
On Natalie’s death, guilty of the homicide offense supported by the court’s instructions and evidence presented.
June cried.
Garrison looked down.
Detective Brooks exhaled.
No one celebrated.
May you like
Because Natalie was still dead.
And two little girls had spent years learning fear before learning multiplication.
