“Mr. Jackson, if you would just–”
“That’s not my name.”
Nervously, Lutz shuffled through blank papers. “…Sorry about that Mr. Walters. I’d gotten side tracked,” he said. “Anyway, your next court date is January 6th. I’ll see you then.” Lutz quickly stood from his seat, he’d done more damage than good.
Weighed down by the chains and now a new burden of despair, Steven mustered to call out to Lutz before he could leave.
“So I have to sit here for seventeen days?”
Lutz opened the right folder with Steven’s last name on it. “Well, yes–Unless you have ten percent of fifty thousand dollars sitting around.”
He didn’t have that kind of money. With the purchase he had made the week before, his savings had been wiped clean.

Pg. 9
His desperation was apparent. “If you’re my attorney, you have to get me out of here.”
Lutz shrugged his shoulders. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do.”
The lawyer left the room without waiting for a response. Discouraged, Steven’s chin fell to his chest. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and yet he was being punished for his scrupulous actions.

Pg. (10) Chapter 3
Remarkably the jail possessed law books, including computers with limited resources to legal data, likely a tactic to keep prosecutors with a one up on defendants.
He had been there five days–two days he had spent wrapping his brain around the systemic betrayal of his constitutional rights. A couple days later, after parting ways with his understandable, but melodramatic sorrow he realized that he wasn’t the only one being railroaded.
A number of other prisoners awaiting trial for cases as simple as menacing were being offered outrageous sentences, other cases were more serious, however, the process only left Steven puzzled.
He begun scrutinising the system through questions he had begun asking guys in his pod, they complained mostly of their attorneys, how their court appointed officer coerced them to plea to the first deal negotiated by the prosecutor. They were threatened with lengthier sentences if refused the offers.
By the fourth day he continued listening to guy’s conflictions, abashed at their unenthusiastic idleness to do a thing about their predicaments, but that day he decided it wouldn’t be him.
The fifth day he discovered the law books, he wanted every book he could get. Jailers weren’t fond of catering to his request but on the premise of filed grievances to shirts above the jailers his requests were reluctantly granted.
The books were outdated Criminal rule handbooks and a book on governing the rules of Ohio. Fortunate for him his ability to study had become inherent. The first book he read was Ohio’s Criminal Rules. He was disturbed to discover that the charges against him consisted of lengthy sentences–felony breaking in entering carried up to one year in prison, and shockingly the felony two assault, which carried up to a staggering, two to eight years.
The daunting thought of spending eight years in prison almost caused him to slip out of his chair inside the cramped closet space library, but he quickly regained his
Pg. (11)
composure and was able to continue studying.
He read on: ‘Breaking in entering–the elements were simple, to prove, it would have to be shown that he acted with purpose to commit a crime of theft.
A theft would be difficult to prove.
However, he read of something called a supplemental indictment, if this were implemented the chances of him being convicted of a lesser offense of trespassing was high, because despite his vigilante actions he was not granted permission to enter the woman’s car, in light of this his fingers would stay crossed.
He didn’t feel too threatened by the assault, he never assaulted anyone, surely someone would have to testify to that.
After completing his research he wrote down numerous annotations on scraps of paper, he was as ready as he would ever be for this fight.

Pg. (12) Chapter 4
After a request for a speedy trial process the court’s hand was forced, and thirty days later it had begun. It was February 6th. The jury was a stoic panel of ten whites, one Asian American and one Latin woman who was well over her primitive years, Steven just hoped she was still capable of being of rational mind.
On the second day of trial opening statements began. The prosecutor was the first to put on its case. She was a middle aged white woman with streaks of grey wedged in between a flow of brunette hair. She begun portraying Steven as malignant, mischaracterising his journey of obtaining a college degree as him being a priviledged misguided oddity who preyed on the elderly.
“Maybe his college debt overwhelmed him,” she said, holding up a single sheet of paper. “According to this paper he’s mired in it, and it was going to take him a pretty long time to get out of it. And sure, college debt is a harsh burden, but it gives no one the right to attack the elderly. Assuming it was his intention to rob her.”
Steven stared at Lutz and he immediately caught the scowling drift and stood to his feet.
“Object; Prosecution is committing misconduct, my client isn’t charged with a robbery.”
“I’ll retract.” The prosecutor cleared up before the judge could sustain the objection.
Back in his seat Steven asked the attorney, “Did you get a holed of the lady I tried to help?”
Lutz covered his mouth and whispered: “Unfortunately she’s still in a coma–doctors say it doesn’t look to good for her,” he said. “But listen, this prosecutor is new, you’ll beat this Mr. Walters.”
He hoped so.

Pg. (13) Chapter 5
By the third day of trial things had become more dire.

Terry Little
DOC #A562207