After a tense, whispered conference, the judge announced a thirty-minute recess. “The Petersons will remain in this courtroom under bailiff supervision,” she ordered. Two bailiffs moved to stand near their seats.
Mr. Ramsay came over to me, and for the first time, he looked at me like a person, not a case number. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “I should have believed you. I should have investigated more, fought harder. I was too overwhelmed.” His honesty didn’t erase the weeks of terror, but it was something.
When the court reconvened, the judge called Ashley Rodriguez to the witness stand. She explained that she had lived with the Petersons as a foster child for two years. She had been in a coffee shop across the street that day and, knowing their history of schemes, started recording when she saw them at the window.
“I stayed in contact with other kids who used to live with them,” Ashley explained, her voice gaining strength. “Three others went through similar things. They would stage accidents and then profit from insurance claims and lawsuits. It was a pattern. Stage an accident, find someone to blame, sue for money. One kid was pushed down the stairs, and they blamed a teacher who tried to help.”
