1960: My uncle is the FBI Director

Chapter 212 Judge Bezeron

June 5, afternoon.

District Court, District 3, U.S. District Court, District of Columbia.

A court hearing is about to end.

This is a case of manslaughter. The defendant, while intoxicated, had an argument with his neighbor and pushed the neighbor off the building, resulting in the neighbor's death despite attempts to save him.

Thanks to Judge Bezelon's efforts, the defendant obtained the victim's family's forgiveness, and his sentence was reduced from twenty-five years to seven years.

Judge Bezeron read out the verdict against the defendant and is now giving a final summary of the trial:

“Cruel punishments never reform people; they only leave a deep scar of fear on their souls.”

"The duty of this court is not only to punish, but also to restore. The power of the law lies not only in its severity, but also in its ability to guide the lost back to the right path, to heal wounds, and to allow communities to heal again."

"Can a cold, 25-year prison sentence bring the dead back to life?"

"Can this bring peace to the living?"

Judge Bezeron's gaze swept across the jury once:
"cannot!"

"But today, the defendant's sincere remorse and the victim's family's moving forgiveness have truly accomplished what the law cannot do—it has brought peace."

Judge Bezzeron looked at the victim's family, his tone becoming increasingly compassionate:

"This case tells us that the purpose of justice should be 'restoration' rather than 'retaliation'."

"The seven-year sentence in this case is a necessary punishment for his wrongdoing, but more importantly, it leaves room for reconciliation within a family and a person's rebirth."

He looked at the defendant, his eyes filled with pity:

"The seven-year sentence is not a punishment for you, but a time for you to reflect."

"I hope you can reflect on your actions during these seven years, think clearly about how much harm you have caused to others, and how you will make amends after you get out."

The defendant lowered his head, his face filled with grief.

The victim's family members supported each other, tears streaming down their faces.

Judge Bezeron's rulings are known for their literary style, with liberal media calling him a "court poet" and conservatives criticizing him for "putting legal philosophy above legal texts."

Whether it's criticism or praise, Judge Bezeron's judgments have always had a strong personal style and are highly recognizable.

After staring at the defendant for a few seconds, he struck the gavel and announced the end of the trial.

The victim's family members embraced each other and wept bitterly.

The defendant and his family embraced each other, weeping with joy.

The audience and jury stood up, watching the two groups embracing and discussing amongst themselves.

Judge Bezeron paused briefly, nodded in satisfaction, packed up his water glass and notebook, and returned to his office in the inner court.

There was less than half an hour left before the end of the workday.

Back in his office, Judge Bezeron sat down and reviewed the entire trial proceedings, pondering how to publicize this case as a model example.

His assistant was called in, and he handed over a copy of the judgment and the case file.

Without Judge Bezzeron needing to speak, his assistant understood his meaning, nodded, and left the office with the documents.

The assistant would leak case details to legal columnists and liberal commentators at friendly media outlets such as The Washington Post and The New York Times.

The media will focus on touching details during the trial: such as the defendant's moment of repentance, the victim's mother wiping away tears and saying "I forgive you," and Judge Bezeron's guidance full of "humanistic care," etc., which will be compiled into touching stories about "humanization of the judiciary."

They had done this more than once before, and their assistants were already very familiar with it.

Judge Bezeron tidied up the documents again, checked the time, took off his judicial robe, prepared to change into his casual clothes, and went home after get off work.

There was a knock on the office door, and a middle-aged man in a suit walked in.

Judge Bezeron recognized the man; he was a middle-aged criminal lawyer. Judges usually knew these lawyers who frequently appeared in court.

Judge Bezeron was in a good mood after finishing a case.

He put down his briefcase, checked the time, sat back down, and reminded the middle-aged lawyer with a smile, "You have five minutes left."

The middle-aged lawyer pulled out a document and handed it to Judge Bezeron, getting to the point.

He was there to discuss a case he was representing with Judge Bezeron.

It is well known that Judge Bezeron is always lenient with defendants.

A middle-aged lawyer wants to file a motion to exclude a key piece of evidence submitted by the prosecutor.

Judge Bezeron listened carefully to the middle-aged lawyer's opinion, and after careful consideration, told the lawyer that he needed to hear the prosecutor's perspective.

The middle-aged lawyer thanked Judge Bezeron and got up to leave.

Judge Bezeron glanced at the time; it was just past closing time.

He changed his coat and was about to leave when his assistant walked in.

The assistant was holding a bulging file bag.

The envelope was marked as being given to Judge Bezeron.

Judge Bezeron took the document bag, opened it, and pulled out several photos.

He glanced at the photo, his face darkening.

He shoved the photo back and looked at his assistant:
"Where did it come from?"

The assistant pointed outside.

The file folder was found on his desk.

Having just left Judge Bezeron's office, with only a dozen minutes left before the end of the workday, he was about to tidy up his desk when he spotted this file folder on the messy surface.

Judge Bezeron then asked him:

"Have you looked at everything in here?"

Judge Bezzeron is a controversial judge. His letters are always checked by his assistants to ensure there is no danger before being handed to him.

The assistant hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

Judge Bezeron stared at his assistant for a moment, then waved to him.

He casually stuffed the file bag into his briefcase and left work as usual, completely unconcerned.

It seemed like just an ordinary threatening letter from the family of a victim in one of the cases he had adjudicated.

Judge Bezeron walked steadily, greeted his colleagues with a smile, and drove to the parking lot before leaving the courthouse.

Instead of going home, he drove all the way to the Potomac River.

Judge Bezeron sat in the car, staring blankly at the shimmering river ahead for a while, then took out a file bag from his briefcase, opened it, and took out the photos inside, looking through them one by one.

The backgrounds of the photos kept changing; some were taken inside a car, some inside a restaurant, and some by a river.

The photo shows Judge Bezeron of different ages shaking hands with different lawyers.

These lawyers were all lawyers who had appeared in his courtroom, representing the defendants.

The last photo is of Judge Bezelon meeting privately with Henry Thompson's lawyer, Tom.

Judge Bezeron silently flipped through the photos and then stuffed them back into the file bag.

I started the car and headed towards Georgetown.

(End of this chapter)