Chapter 5 – On the Lawyers' Bench
March 2011 – Harvard Law School
The Cambridge sky was overcast and gray, but inside Room 3B of Austin Hall, the atmosphere was electric. Students organized papers, tested microphones, adjusted their ties, or nervously smoothed their blazers. With each step they took, their heels and shoes sounded like dry hammers on the polished wooden floor.
It was Legal Practice day the first mock trial.
A real case, from years before, would be represented by the students as if it were being tried for the first time. There would be judges, defendants, attorneys for the prosecution and defense, witnesses, and of course, pressure.
The professor in charge was Allan S. Brooks, a former federal prosecutor known for his rigid posture and his demand for authenticity.
"This isn't theater. This is law. You're not here to play characters; you're here to become real lawyers." — he said as he entered the room, his cold eyes scanning each student.
Gustavo sat in the second row, files lined up, navy blue tie well adjusted, posture impeccable. He had been chosen to act as assistant prosecutor in the case.
The case selected for the simulation was a classic debate on ethics and circumstantial evidence: People v. Jackson.
The defendant, Michael Jackson (coincidentally the same name as the singer, but no relation), was accused of manslaughter after running over and killing a cyclist on a state highway. The controversial detail was that he had taken prescription drugs before driving, although there was no alcohol or illegal drugs involved. The case called into question intent, responsibility and negligence.
At the back of the room, the three "judges" sophomores with a history of moot courts were already positioned in their borrowed gowns, maintaining neutral expressions.
Gustavo mentally reviewed his line of argument. He had studied the precedents, mapped out the case law of other states, and even written notes on the social impact of negligent driving.
Lucía Hernández, his teammate, sat down next to him.
"Nervous?" she whispered.
"A little. But I've said it about ten times in front of the mirror. If I brake, push me."
"Relax. If you brake, I'll kick you discreetly in the shin."
They laughed softly.
The professor clapped his hands twice. Instant silence.
"Begin. Prosecution, you have the floor."
Gustavo stood up. The sound of the wooden bench creaking seemed too loud for a second. He took a deep breath and took the first steps toward the center of the room.
"Your honorable judges, colleagues, good afternoon. My name is Gustavo Silva, and together with prosecutor Hernández, I represent the Public Prosecutor's Office in the People v. Jackson case.
His voice was firm. The Brazilian accent was almost gone—just a slight melodic touch on some of the words. He looked around at everyone, making eye contact as he had learned in his Trial Advocacy classes.
"What happened on the night of September 12 was a tragedy. But more than that, it was a direct consequence of choices. The defendant took medication that clearly affected his motor skills. Knowing this, he chose to drive. That choice cost the life of an innocent cyclist. And today, we are here to ensure that justice recognizes this negligence."
He returned to his seat. Lucía smiled.
"He killed. In a good way."
The defense began its opening argument. The student assigned to represent the defendant's attorney was Zachary Miller, a blond, square-jawed boy with a confident demeanor, known for being a good debater.
"Mr. Jackson has been diagnosed with mental disorders, and the medications he took were prescribed by a doctor. He was not impaired, he was not drunk, and there was no evidence of recklessness. The accident was exactly that: an accident. And criminalizing a health condition is a dangerous path that we must avoid."
It was an intelligent argument. And Gustavo knew it.
The next part of the trial would be the examination of witnesses. The prosecution called the first: a highway patrolman who arrived at the crime scene.
Lucía asked direct, confident questions. Gustavo stood up to redirect the question.
— Officer, you mentioned that the defendant was "calm and confused" at the scene. Is that a common combination?
— No, sir. We usually see anxiety, nervousness. But he was apathetic. As if he didn't understand the seriousness.
— Is that compatible with the use of benzodiazepines?
— Yes. Very common, in fact.
— Thank you, no more questions.
Zachary stood up for the cross-examination, trying to discredit the police officer, citing the response time and the lack of a sobriety test.
Gustavo mentally noted each point.
In the second half of the simulation, Gustavo took center stage.
He had 10 minutes to make the prosecution's closing argument.
He stood up slowly. He walked calmly to the center of the room, as if time were under his control.
— Your Honor, judges. We are not here to judge Mr. Jackson's mental health. We are not here to question the effectiveness of a treatment. We are here because a man decided to drive under the influence of strong medications. Because someone died. And because this victim's life cannot be reduced to an administrative error.
He paused dramatically. All eyes were on him.
— He was not a criminal in the classic sense. He did not leave home with the intention of killing. But the law does not require that. The law requires responsibility. The law requires that, when taking substances that affect your perception, you think about the consequences. That you choose not to drive. Mr. Jackson chose otherwise. And someone paid the price.
He walked a little further.
— Justice is not punishment. Justice is recognition. It is looking at the truth and saying: that was wrong. And that is why we ask for a conviction.
Total silence.
Professor Brooks, arms crossed in the corner of the room, gave a slight nod. A rare gesture, but one that spoke volumes.
After the simulation ended, the judges left the room to deliberate as part of the exercise.
The professor addressed the students.
"Simulations like this have value not only technically, but also humanly. They show who you are in the face of stress, in the face of responsibility. And today…"
He looked directly at Gustavo.
"…we had an example of balance, clarity, and emotional intelligence that I hope to see in a real courtroom in the near future."
Gustavo felt his heart race.
Lucía whispered,
"Okay, that was the academic equivalent of an Oscar."
Later, back in the dorm, still in formal attire, Gustavo turned on the camera to talk to Haley.
"You're not going to believe it. I was praised by Brooks in front of the entire class."
"WHAT? Brooks?" The same one that destroyed poor Tyler for using "literally" wrong?
— That's the one.
— Oh my God, Gustavo. You're going to be the best lawyer in history. And then the best cop. And then… maybe the president.
— Hold on. One step at a time.
— I'm so proud. Really.
— Thank you. You've helped me more than you know.
— What do you mean?
— You taught me to listen. To understand people before trying to win an argument. That made all the difference today.
She smiled, touched.
— Then maybe I should charge a fee.
— Maybe. In cookies. When I visit in July.
— Done.
That night, Gustavo lay down without reviewing any cases, without opening any books. He just stared at the ceiling and let the feeling of achievement completely embrace him.
He still had a long way to go. But at that moment, he knew: he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
And he wouldn't stop at anything.
Chapter 6 – The Weight of the Word
April 2011 – Harvard Law School
The hallways of Austin Hall were quieter than usual, as if the walls themselves, made of ancient stone, were holding the collective breath of the first-year students.
It was Moot Court week.
And among the 60 students selected to participate in the nationally recognized simulation, Gustavo Silva had been chosen as Lead Counsel for the prosecution. It was not just an honor—it was a responsibility that carried the weight of expectations, reputations, and sleepless nights.
The 1L Ames Moot Court competition consisted of a fictional case, but one heavily inspired by real dilemmas. The team of professors had written a legal problem with emotional and doctrinal complexity.
The case? State of New Hampshire v. Elizabeth Crane.
The defendant was charged with aggravated manslaughter after providing her teenage son—who was chronically depressed—with a firearm that he used to commit suicide. The state argued that the mother acted with gross negligence in allowing access to a gun, even though she knew about her son's psychiatric history.
The defense argued that the mother trusted the therapeutic process, that the gun was locked away, and that her son, at 17, acted deliberately and without clear signs of immediate risk.
Gustavo read the problem four times on the first night. Then he printed it out, wrote it down by hand, highlighted passages in three different colors, and stayed up all night.
The prosecution team was composed of:
Gustavo Silva – Lead Counsel
Lucía Hernández – Second Chair
Daniel Cho – Research Analyst
During the first few days of preparation, they met in Simulation Room 104, always between 7:00 p.m. and 2:00 a.m.
The walls were covered with scribbled whiteboards, legal precedents, speech schedules, and mind maps.
Lucía was reading a passage from the case law:
— In the case of State v. Kellerman, the mother was held criminally liable for neglecting to supervise a son with a history of violence. This may help us…
— But we need to be careful with exaggerated analogies — Gustavo replied, who was tapping the table with a pencil. — Our case is more emotional. If we are too harsh, it seems like we are blaming the mother for her son's pain.
Daniel, the quietest of the group, spoke softly:
— What if we focus on the responsibility of the gun custody? Not on her psychological suffering. Just on the objective act.
— That's it! — Gustavo said, standing up suddenly. — Our main argument should be: easy access to a gun in a clinically risky environment is gross negligence, regardless of the mother's intention.
Lucía smiled.
— The prosecutor was born, officially.
As the week went by, Gustavo rehearsed his opening statement every day. In the mirror. In the shower. In the library, whispering among the books.
He knew that this speech would be the foundation of his entire argument. Every comma had to sound human, but it was necessary.
The day before the presentation, the team did a complete simulation. Professor Brooks showed up unexpectedly to watch.
"Let's see if the Brazilian boy is ready for fire," he said, crossing his arms.
Gustavo stood up. He adjusted his dark gray jacket and walked to the center of the room. He stopped. He took a deep breath. And he began:
"Your honorable judges, this is a story of love. Of loss. And of a choice that, although well-intentioned, cost a life."
Pause.
"Elizabeth Crane loved her son. There is no doubt about that. But she knew. She knew the risk. She knew the diagnosis. She knew the incomplete treatment. And yet, she provided a lethal weapon. A decision. A tragic outcome."
He looked directly at Brooks.
— Today, we ask that this Court recognize that love does not nullify responsibility. And that, in the name of so many other lives, this choice has legal consequences.
Silence.
Brooks cleared his throat.
— If you repeat that tomorrow… you have a real chance of winning.
Moot Court Day. April 18.
Austin Hall's Courtroom 5 was packed. Sophomores, seniors, teachers, family members, and even invited professionals were watching.
Gustavo walked with firm steps. His suit jacket was impeccable, his hair carefully combed to the side, his posture erect. Beside him, Lucía and Daniel seemed equally focused.
The panel was composed of three professors including a retired justice of the Massachusetts State Supreme Court, the feared Hon. Beatrice Langston.
"Counsels, you may begin," she said, her voice firm but polite.
Gustavo stood up.
"Your honorable judges." I am Gustavo Silva, representing the State of New Hampshire. My team and I will present the case for why the defendant, Elizabeth Crane, should be held liable for aggravated manslaughter.
He walked calmly to the podium, notes in hand, but without even looking at them.
"This is not a case of bad faith. It is a case of broken trust. When a parent chooses to provide an unstable child with a lethal means, even with warnings professionals, this choice ceases to be protection, it becomes negligence.
He continued for 7 minutes without stumbling. He cited case law from three states, referenced studies on clinical risk and firearms in family settings. He used his voice in a measured way, making dramatic pauses, and looked each judge in the eye.
Lucía took over next, asking technical questions to a simulated witness — a child psychiatrist. Her performance was equally impeccable.
The defense was skillful, but emotional. It tried to appeal to the mother's pain, to the unpredictability of suicide, to the subjectivity of mental suffering.
Gustavo remained stoic, writing down every detail for the rebuttal.
The time came for the closing argument. All eyes were on him again.
— Your Excellencies, during this trial, we have heard about pain. About love. About tragedy. But we must remember: we are in a courtroom, not in a therapy room. What we are judging here is not the mourning it is the decision that preceded it.
Pause.
— The defendant provided access to an instrument of death. And the result was death. That, gentlemen, is what the law defines as negligence with fatal consequences.
He took a breath.
— Justice is not about punishment. Justice is about acknowledging mistakes. And preventing them from happening again.
At the end of the presentation, the panel asked for 15 minutes to deliberate. The tension was palpable.
Gustavo and the team sat at the back of the room. Daniel was clasping his fingers together. Lucía was breathing rapidly. Gustavo simply closed his eyes and kept his head down.
When the judges returned, the entire room went quiet.
Judge Langston cleared her throat.
— This was one of the most balanced, respectful, and technically sound presentations I have seen in years. Both teams demonstrated great legal understanding and empathy. But the clarity of the argument, the precise use of case law, and the firm stance of the prosecution were decisive.
She looked at Gustavo.
— Mr. Silva, you demonstrated control, sensitivity, and brilliance. Congratulations to the prosecution. Victory granted.
Applause filled the room.
Lucía threw her arms around Gustavo. Daniel smiled for the first time in days.
Gustavo stood still, feeling the warmth of that moment. He knew it was just one step. But it was a huge step.
That night, back in the dorm, he called Haley.
She answered almost immediately.
—So, winner?
—We won.
—DID YOU WON?
—It was the team. But yes. Judge Langston called me brilliant.
—I knew it. Ever since the day you helped me with that biology test without even studying.
Gustavo laughed.
—I don't even remember that.
—I remember. Because that's when I realized you were born for this.
He was silent for a moment.
— Thank you for always believing.
— I will always believe. Now go to sleep. You deserve it.
Gustavo hung up, lay down on the bed, and looked at the ceiling.
There, in the calm after the storm, he understood that Law was not just theory. It was voice. It was responsibility. It was courage.
And for the first time since arriving at Harvard, he felt like a real part of that world.
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