On Trial

Joshua looked straight at her. “I own my van,” he said. “It’s probably worth eight hundred dollars now.”

Hayes lifted an eyebrow. “So you’re claiming you own nothing beyond that and the clothes you’re wearing?”

“Not even these,” Joshua said. “My clothes were torn off when your men were beating me. These were given to me before you brought me in. I assumed you wanted me cleaned up for the cameras.”

The gallery reacted in a single burst—gasps, angry shouts, camera flashes popping. Thompson hammered the gavel.

“Order! I said order!”

Lisa wrote the line down verbatim, then underlined it once. On the recording, it would just be noise; on paper, it would stand there by itself.

The noise outside climbed at the same time, the crowd’s chant pushing through the walls in a steady rhythm.

The questioning dragged on. Faces tightened, voices sharpened. Security shifted along the walls, hands resting on belts. Nearly two hours after Joshua had taken his seat, Thompson finally called for the vote.

“We will proceed to a verbal vote on whether this Emergency Court affirms Mr. Steel’s designation as a domestic stability risk and recommends treason charges to the president under the Domestic Stability Act,” he said. “Mr. Pilot, your vote?”

Pilot stood. “Mr. Chairman, I can’t support this,” he said. “I don’t see treason here. I see a man who’s been beaten and dragged in front of us for speaking his mind.” He glanced at Joshua. “From where I’m sitting, your intentions look a lot cleaner than some of the things we’ve done to stop you.”

“Time to move on, Pilot,” Thompson cut in. “We have a schedule.”

Pilot turned on him. “Shut up, Thompson,” he said evenly. “This is my time. I don’t work for you. You’ve let that chair go to your head.”

He looked out over the room. “This whole thing is a show,” he said. “I won’t be part of it. I’m done.”

He set his microphone down. Feedback squealed, then cut. Pilot gathered his papers and walked out, not looking back.

Thompson watched him go, jaw tight. Then he turned back to his notes. “The majority has spoken,” he said. “The stability designation and treason recommendation stand. We will recess for thirty minutes, then reconvene to finalize this panel’s written recommendation to the president.”

Goldstein was on his feet. “What about his rights?” he shouted. “What about review? You can’t move straight from a vote to a so-called recommendation that functions like sentencing.”

“This is treason, Counselor,” Thompson said, voice cold. “Under the Domestic Stability Act, this Emergency Court was created for exactly this kind of case. We’re proceeding.”

“Even under Section Twelve you can’t certify a capital recommendation inside thirty days,” Goldstein shot back. “You know that. There are statutes.”

“This is Washington, son,” Thompson said, a thin smile touching his mouth. “We write the statutes.”

“This is an outrage,” Goldstein said. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “We’ll go to the Supreme Court.”

“Go ahead,” Thompson replied. “By the time they weigh in, we’ll have our answer.”

At the table, Joshua pushed himself to his feet and turned slightly, catching the eyes of his people along the back wall. “Don’t give them a reason to crack down,” he said, voice calm but carrying. “Whatever they do to me, they’re doing out of fear. Don’t feed it.”

Goldstein stared at him. “You want us to sit on our hands?” he asked. “While they rush this?”

“They don’t understand what they’re doing,” Joshua said. “What happens to me isn’t the point. What they’re showing the country is. That’s what will break this open.”

Goldstein leaned closer. “McAdams is filing that injunction right now,” he said. “We’ll move as fast as the courts let us.”

Joshua’s mouth tipped into a small grin. “I’m sure you will,” he said. “Stay bright, my friend.”

He glanced to the back and caught Philip’s stricken stare. Joshua gave a tiny shake of his head and a small, quick wink, then turned back.

“Stay in the light, Mr. Goldstein,” he said quietly. “Let them see exactly who you are while you fight this.”

The room buzzed with murmurs and the rapid stutter of camera shutters. Thompson broke in again with the gavel.

“We will have order,” he snapped. “Settle down, or I’ll clear this chamber.”

In the gallery, faces showed everything—fear, fury, disbelief. Sweat shone on foreheads under the TV lights. The rumble from the crowd outside washed through the room in waves.

Goldstein nodded once, jaw set. “We’ll fight this,” he said to Joshua. “We’ll get you out.”

“I know you’ll try,” Joshua answered. “Just remember this was never about one man. It’s about everybody out there watching what happens in this room.”

The noise dipped for a moment, as if the whole room had taken the same breath. Outside, the chant rose again, pressing against the windows and doors.

Thompson banged the gavel one last time and announced the recess. Members pushed back their chairs and filed out through the rear door. Reporters surged forward, jockeying for angles and quotes. Staffers leaned into phones, shouting over the din.

Goldstein stayed in his seat, phone to his ear, listening hard. The court-appointed lawyer—face pale, tie loose—started shoving papers into his briefcase.

“You heading out?” Goldstein asked.

“Damn right,” the younger man said. “I did not sign up for this circus. God help me, I’m on national TV. I’ll be lucky if anyone ever hires me again.”

Goldstein reached into his pocket and handed him a card. “Call me when this all shakes out,” he said. “We help people for a living. That includes you.”

The lawyer looked at the card, swallowed, and slipped it into his jacket. Then he clutched his briefcase like a shield and pushed his way toward the door.

Joshua stayed where he was, standing, hands loose at his sides. He turned once more toward the back of the room, meeting as many eyes as he could. A small nod, nothing more, passed between him and the people who had followed him this far.

The cameras caught all of it.

Outside, the chanting didn’t stop.

Inside, under the bright lights and the weight of what had just been set in motion, it was clear to anyone paying attention: this wasn’t finished.