Ghislaine Maxwell: Observations from Inside the Courtroom
Let’s start with everyone’s favorite: Ghislaine Maxwell.
I have personally never met the woman, but I did have the opportunity to observe her on opening day of her trial from inside the courtroom. It was quite fascinating.
On November 29, it was a cold, windy day in New York City, which had its first snow of the season. I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the frigid, windy weather, and how it set an even more chilling tone for one of the most anticipated trials in recent U.S. history.
The scene outside the Thurgood Marshall United States Courthouse was … well, not what I expected (actually, maybe it was). Although there were a lot of major media outlets stationed in a row just at the bottom of the grand steps of the entrance, it was definitely not the mob scene that these high-profile trials typically attract. There were about a quarter of the outlets that I expected. There was only one person in line before me when I checked in through security, with no credentials I might add. However, a vax card (of course) was required.
I went to one of the media overflow rooms to scope out the scene, but it was just a bunch of dorks doing what they were told. Watching this through a screen was not good enough for me, plus I have years of experience penetrating areas I don’t belong. I asked security what floor the main courtroom was on and marched my way over there.
It took about 5 seconds to infiltrate the courtroom (again, with no credentials). There were only about 20-25 people in there. I stood in the back, bundled up in all black, and had wondered if they perhaps thought I was a victim. No one really questioned me (at first), and I eased into my new temporary environment.
Then I saw her. I had to strain my eyes because her casual, flowery demeanor was so jarring. That has to be one of the attorneys, I thought in a few moments of baffled self-doubt, gauging from her polished appearance and peculiarly high level of confidence. The woman’s perfectly-coiffed dark hair worn just past her shoulders; she looked fresh and impeccable in a (probably cashmere) white sweater. This couldn’t be the person who I had read about looking sickly and enduring horrific conditions in a Brooklyn detention center. No, it is her. I know that smug smile from anywhere, even without having met her.
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