walked to the side door in the middle of the courtroom,
which led to the corridor that housed the bare, dingy witness room. I stared at
the group we had selected-eight men and four women-as every head followed him.
Fifteen
pairs of eyes-twelve jurors, two alternates, and a curious judge-scrutinized
Vallis as she walked in front of the first row of benches, alongside my table,
and stepped up to her place on the stand. The officer asked her to put one hand
on the Bible and raise the other to take the oath. She was trembling as she
complied with his direction.
There was
not a single spectator in the room, except for my paralegal, who was there to
help steady Paige with eye contact and a reassuring smile.
"Good
morning," I said to her, as I rose to begin my questioning. "Would
you please tell the jury your name?"
Vallis
reached for the paper cup filled with water before she spoke. It shook as she
lifted it, and water splashed over its edge. "My name is Paige
Vallis."
I took
her through a series of pedigree questions, which I had told her I would use to
try to calm her down, and get the jury to relate to her. If she could describe
her background and her work to them, it would settle her in before moving into
the more highly charged testimony about the crime. I wanted to humanize her for
the people who would judge her credibility, so that they could understand she
had no reason to fabricate the story she was about to tell.
"Where
do you live?"
"Here
in Manhattan, in TriBeCa." The judge had agreed with me that she did not
need to put an exact street address into the public record.
"How
old are you?"
"I'm
thirty-six." We were exactly the same age, I thought, looking at the young
woman whose life had become unraveled on the evening of March 6.
"Were
you raised in New York?"
"No,
I was not." I had prepped her to look at the jurors and talk directly to
them, and she was trying to do that as she answered. She was dressed in a navy
blue suit with a pale yellow blouse, and her naturally curly brown hair was
swept back away from her plain-featured face. "I was born here, in the
city. My father was in the diplomatic corps, so I spent most of my childhood
abroad."
"Would
you tell us about your educational background?"
"I
attended the American schools wherever my father was posted. I returned to this
country to go to college, and received my bachelor's degree from Georgetown
University, in Washington, D.C. I worked for a few years after
graduating," she said, describing a number of entry-level jobs. "Then
I decided to go to business school, and got my master's from Columbia five
years ago."
Vallis
had impressive academic credentials. So did a lot of crazy people I knew.
"Where
are you employed, and what specific duties does your job involve?"
"Before
my graduation, I was recruited by an investment banking firm, where I had done
a summer internship," Vallis said, clearly comfortable discussing the work
she did. "The company is called Dibingham Partners. I'm a research analyst
there, and I specialize in foreign equities."
Vallis
went on to describe to the jury exactly what she did to investigate overseas
companies in order to make recommendations about whether to purchase stocks for
her customers' portfolios.
I flushed
out the promotions she had been given and the number of people she supervised,
establishing the stability of her professional performance.
"Are
you single, Ms. Vallis?"
"Yes,
I am. I've never been married."
"Do
you know the defendant in this case, Andrew Tripping?"
Vallis
cleared her throat and glanced quickly at the defense table. The few moments of
relaxed testimony she had given came to an abrupt end, as she visibly tensed as
she answered the question. "Yes, I do."
"For
how long have you known him?"
"I
met him in February of this year. February twentieth, to be exact."
"Your
Honor, may we approach?" Robelon got to his feet. This was his style. Just
as my victim was about to get her narrative going, he
which led to the corridor that housed the bare, dingy witness room. I stared at
the group we had selected-eight men and four women-as every head followed him.
Fifteen
pairs of eyes-twelve jurors, two alternates, and a curious judge-scrutinized
Vallis as she walked in front of the first row of benches, alongside my table,
and stepped up to her place on the stand. The officer asked her to put one hand
on the Bible and raise the other to take the oath. She was trembling as she
complied with his direction.
There was
not a single spectator in the room, except for my paralegal, who was there to
help steady Paige with eye contact and a reassuring smile.
"Good
morning," I said to her, as I rose to begin my questioning. "Would
you please tell the jury your name?"
Vallis
reached for the paper cup filled with water before she spoke. It shook as she
lifted it, and water splashed over its edge. "My name is Paige
Vallis."
I took
her through a series of pedigree questions, which I had told her I would use to
try to calm her down, and get the jury to relate to her. If she could describe
her background and her work to them, it would settle her in before moving into
the more highly charged testimony about the crime. I wanted to humanize her for
the people who would judge her credibility, so that they could understand she
had no reason to fabricate the story she was about to tell.
"Where
do you live?"
"Here
in Manhattan, in TriBeCa." The judge had agreed with me that she did not
need to put an exact street address into the public record.
"How
old are you?"
"I'm
thirty-six." We were exactly the same age, I thought, looking at the young
woman whose life had become unraveled on the evening of March 6.
"Were
you raised in New York?"
"No,
I was not." I had prepped her to look at the jurors and talk directly to
them, and she was trying to do that as she answered. She was dressed in a navy
blue suit with a pale yellow blouse, and her naturally curly brown hair was
swept back away from her plain-featured face. "I was born here, in the
city. My father was in the diplomatic corps, so I spent most of my childhood
abroad."
"Would
you tell us about your educational background?"
"I
attended the American schools wherever my father was posted. I returned to this
country to go to college, and received my bachelor's degree from Georgetown
University, in Washington, D.C. I worked for a few years after
graduating," she said, describing a number of entry-level jobs. "Then
I decided to go to business school, and got my master's from Columbia five
years ago."
Vallis
had impressive academic credentials. So did a lot of crazy people I knew.
"Where
are you employed, and what specific duties does your job involve?"
"Before
my graduation, I was recruited by an investment banking firm, where I had done
a summer internship," Vallis said, clearly comfortable discussing the work
she did. "The company is called Dibingham Partners. I'm a research analyst
there, and I specialize in foreign equities."
Vallis
went on to describe to the jury exactly what she did to investigate overseas
companies in order to make recommendations about whether to purchase stocks for
her customers' portfolios.
I flushed
out the promotions she had been given and the number of people she supervised,
establishing the stability of her professional performance.
"Are
you single, Ms. Vallis?"
"Yes,
I am. I've never been married."
"Do
you know the defendant in this case, Andrew Tripping?"
Vallis
cleared her throat and glanced quickly at the defense table. The few moments of
relaxed testimony she had given came to an abrupt end, as she visibly tensed as
she answered the question. "Yes, I do."
"For
how long have you known him?"
"I
met him in February of this year. February twentieth, to be exact."
"Your
Honor, may we approach?" Robelon got to his feet. This was his style. Just
as my victim was about to get her narrative going, he
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