How Does The Runaway Jury End?

Claire’s world shatters overnight when her husband’s ex _ the glamorous actress, Eva Sterling _ returns. Her husband’s affair explodes in the public and a scandal exposes her supposed infertility to the world. Humiliated, betrayed, and abandoned by her husband, Lucian, Claire discovers the truth: Eva forged the reports and faked a pregnancy to destroy her marriage. But when Claire returns, not as the quiet housewife, but as a brilliant attorney in the courtroom, Lucian is the one begging. Fate has other plans and their love story is far from over.

Before I could shove my wife, Cheryl Craig, into the ocean, I turned myself in. The security guard frowned. "What? Are you saying that you're going to kill someone on this cruise?" I nodded. "It's 5:05 p.m. right now. In 20 minutes, I'll push my wife off this cruise ship. You need to arrest me, now." He stared at me like I had lost my mind. "You've got to be kidding! I've never seen anyone confess before the crime." He waved me off and started to walk away, so I had no choice but to start smashing things in the lobby. Only when the cuffs snapped around my wrists did I finally breathe again. In my last life, Cheryl was pushed off this very ship and fell into the ocean. Before I could even finish arranging her funeral, the police came for me. The ship's security footage clearly showed me pushing her overboard, but at that exact time, I was in a room with my father. There was no way I could've done it. I asked my father to testify for me, but he said I had already been planning to kill Cheryl for the insurance money because my company was falling apart. In the end, I was sentenced to death for murder. Even as I faced execution, I still couldn't understand it. I didn't do it, so why did everyone insist that I had? When I opened my eyes again, I was back to before Cheryl fell into the ocean.

The day I got back from a trip, my housekeeper filed a lawsuit against my father and me. In court, she stood with her visibly pregnant belly, her voice shaking with anguish. "Jethro Roberts and his son are nothing but monsters. They tricked me into moving into their home under the excuse of offering me a job as a housekeeper. They tied me to a bed and abused me. "The baby I am carrying belongs to Jethro Roberts." Her mother wept hard, nearly collapsing from the strain. "These two monsters destroyed my daughter's life! They should pay with their lives." As soon as she spoke, the courtroom burst into an uproar. "Shameless criminals! The dad couldn't even be bothered to appear in court. They must be punished severely!" "That's right. Look at the son. He's actually smiling. He has no conscience! They both deserve to pay for what they did." Then, I calmly stepped forward and presented my evidence. A stunned silence swept through the courtroom.

My grandmother is, as far as the law is concerned, a dead woman. She faked her own death so she could go off with the boy she'd grown up beside, and she left evidence behind that made my grandfather her killer. He went away for twenty years. She sold his house and ran to Port Halcyon with the other man. One of them became a famous attorney who talks about justice in courtrooms. The other became a philanthropist who talks about compassion under television lights. My grandfather carried the word wife-killer for the rest of his life. My father grew up on whatever the neighbors could spare. He never spent a day in school, and he wore his hands raw laying brick until he'd put me through college. Two generations, two pairs of ruined hands, lifting me one step at a time out of Pinebarrow. Fifty years after my grandmother's fake death. I sit on the felony bench of the Dunstone Superior Court. In front of me are five young women charged in a murder. The case against the first four is airtight. Against the fifth, there's half a fingerprint at the scene and a witness who accounts for her entire night. Even the police call her the least likely of them. The murder charge won't hold. I go through her file. Under family, there's a name. Evelyn Harrow. My grandmother. I look at how much the two of them resemble each other. And when her lawyer moves to have her released from this courtroom a free woman, I bring the gavel down lightly. "This court denies the defense motion for dismissal. This court further recommends that the district attorney formally charge the defendant with murder."

My grandfather, Tanner Kane, valued loyalty above all else. When his adopted daughter, Alanna Meyer, was sentenced to death for murder, he sent my mother, Florence Kane, to her death. All to preserve the bloodline of his late childhood friend. Alanna took my mother's name, married, and lived a privileged life free from hardship. Meanwhile, my mother died carrying a crime she never committed. My father, Graham Hart, and I changed our names and wandered from place to place. For years, I was mocked as a motherless child. Forty years later, after enduring humiliation and dedicating myself to my studies, I became a judge in Arbor Falls. Today, I am presiding over a controversial campus murder case in which the victim fell to her death from a building. There were no surveillance cameras. Only two girls were present, and each insists the other is the killer. One of them, Nova, comes from a poor family. Her parents are divorced, and she associates with local delinquents. She is known throughout the school as a feared bully. The other one, Scarlett, comes from a wealthy family. Her parents have a loving marriage, and she excels academically. Her grandmother is a beautiful and kind-hearted artist. Her great-grandfather spent his entire life doing charity work and was recognized as a nationally renowned philanthropist. Everyone believes she is a good girl who would never lie, so Nova the bully must be the killer. However, when I looked at the name listed under Scarlett's grandmother, I saw my mother's name: Florence Kane. Without a second thought, I turned to the person beside me and said, "Reject her request for acquittal."

Dad's foreman withheld his wages, leaving him no choice but to come into the city and find a lawyer. He didn't know how to use the elevator, so he climbed all 20 flights of stairs and walked into the law firm clutching a crumpled contract. "Claire, could you take a look at this? My boss owes me 24 thousand. What am I supposed to do?" As the founder of one of the largest law firms in the city, Claire Doyle had handled countless pro bono cases. But now, she was too busy revising the new intern's law school thesis to even glance at Dad's contract. "Twenty-four grand wouldn't even cover my retainer. I'm sorry, but I can't take the case." Her voice was cold, leaving no room for discussion. Dad's back, already bent from years of hauling rebar and pouring concrete, seemed to stoop even lower. "Okay... I won't take up any more of your time." He slowly gathered his documents and tucked them back into his canvas bag. When he turned to leave, even his footsteps were hesitant, as though he felt the need to apologize for coming at all. My chest tightened. I shot to my feet, ready to confront Claire, but Dad caught my hand before I could take a step. "Josh, it's okay. Claire has her reasons. Don't hold it against her." I stood there, unable to move, as Dad's hunched figure shuffled toward the door. The moment it closed behind him, one thing became painfully clear. I didn't want Claire to be my wife anymore.