Chapter 13 – Voice for the Silence
May 2012 – Harvard Law School
The spring sun gently touched the marble corridors of Wasserstein Hall, illuminating the walls filled with paintings of former students who had become icons of the law. Gustavo passed by there every day, but that week, everything seemed more symbolic.
It was Moot Court week, and this time, he would be the defense.
Study room 3C had been busy since seven in the morning. Papers scattered about. Civil and criminal codes open. Notes scribbled on whiteboards, with diagrams of precedents and constitutional theses. Gustavo, with his shirt sleeve rolled up and his eyes intense, read for the fifth time the report of the fictitious case:
The State of Massachusetts v. Leo Jennings
The defendant, a 22-year-old man, had been arrested after the death of a police officer during an attempted stop in a dark alley in Boston. Jennings claimed self-defense. The police officer had allegedly pointed the gun first without announcing his identity. The defendant's gun had been found with partial fingerprints and there were no clear eyewitnesses. The prosecution claimed premeditation and attempted escape.
Gustavo closed his eyes for a few seconds.
"Is he guilty?" asked Nina, his teammate.
"It doesn't matter if he is. What matters is if the prosecution can prove it beyond a reasonable doubt," he replied calmly but firmly.
"Sometimes I think you were born to be a criminal lawyer," she said smiling.
"Sometimes I think I had no choice."
The defense team held daily meetings. Gustavo, as lead attorney, was responsible not only for leading the arguments in court, but also for drafting the entire defense, dividing the duties among his colleagues.
"Nina, you'll handle the forensic part. Analyze the reports, fingerprints from the gun, analysis of the shot.
"Cameron, handle the doctrine on excessive use of force by public agents." There are strong precedents that we can use.
"I'll take the opening, the cross-examination, and the closing," Gustavo concluded.
"Are you going to do all of that?" Cameron asked.
"I have to. I want to control the pace of the narrative."
On one of the rehearsal nights, Gustavo was alone in the room. The clock read 10:45 p.m. He was rehearsing the defense's opening.
"Your Honor, gentlemen of the jury, today I do not ask you to have mercy. I ask you to have doubt. Because what separates a free man from an unjust sentence is exactly that: reasonable doubt..."
He interrupted himself. He walked from one side of the room to the other. He erased part of the text on the board and rewrote it.
"...Leo Jennings is not a hero. He is not perfect. But he is human. And he deserves to have his humanity seen before it is discarded."
Two days before the mock trial, there was a dress rehearsal with the teachers.
— Gustavo, be careful with your emotions. You are eloquent, but sometimes your tone can sound like an emotional appeal. — warned Professor Merrick.
— Understood. But... I can't defend someone as if I were reading a legal bulletin.
— And that's exactly why you're going to stand out. — said the professor with a slight smile.
The day before the trial, Haley video-called.
— So... tomorrow is the day?
— Yeah. If everything goes well, Leo will be "acquitted" and I'll get a perfect score in the Moot Court.
— And if it doesn't?
— I'll learn. And I'll try again.
— You're going to rock, Gustavo. Because you really care. This is more than a case to you, right?
— Yeah. Because if this were a real case... this kid could lose his freedom because of a misinterpretation of a gesture, a gun in his pocket, or the color of his skin.
— Good luck, my favorite lawyer. — she winked.
— Thank you, my favorite stylish businesswoman.
Moot Court Day – Room 5A, Harvard Law School
The room was set up like a real courtroom. A panel of three professors and two guest attorneys. The gallery had over 50 people, including students and mentors. The jury was made up of volunteer students from other courses.
Gustavo wore a dark blue suit and a burgundy tie. His teammates were tense but ready.
On the other side, the prosecution led by James O'Connor, a competitive student known for being aggressive in his arguments.
— Good luck, Silva. — James said, with a cynical smile as he passed by him.
— This isn't about luck, O'Connor. It's about justice. — Gustavo replied, without looking away.
The court was called to order.
The mock judge — played by a criminal procedure professor — began the hearing.
— The prosecution has the floor.
James began with an articulate, theatrical introduction, attacking the defendant's credibility and emphasizing the "danger" he posed. He used graphs, images, and tried to paint Jennings as a repeat offender.
Gustavo listened, his hands clasped together, showing no reaction. But inside, he was already planning his next steps.
When it was time the defense, Gustavo stood up, adjusted the lapel of his jacket, and walked to the center.
— Your Honor. Jury. There are times when doubt is not just a gap... it is a wall. Today, this doubt is the only protection Leo Jennings has against a conviction that could take his entire life.
He began his narrative. He pointed out inconsistencies. He pointed out the absence of direct witnesses. He highlighted the fact that the police officer did not announce that he was an officer before drawing his weapon.
Gustavo cited Graham v. Connor and Tennessee v. Garner, real precedents on the use of force by the police. He brought up data from official reports, but spoke calmly as if he were conversing, not reciting.
When the time came for questioning, he surprised everyone.
— Mr. O'Connor, may I ask a direct question?
— This is irregular — said the judge, but he allowed it.
— If you were alone, at night, in an alley, and someone pointed a gun at you without identifying themselves, what would you do?
James hesitated.
— I...
— Because Leo Jennings reacted with fear. And fear is human. And the law, ladies and gentlemen, is for humans.
At the end, the courtroom was silent for a few seconds. The panel exchanged glances.
The jury voted after 20 minutes of deliberation.
— By majority, we consider that the prosecution did not prove the case beyond a reasonable doubt. The defense prevails.
The room exploded in applause. Gustavo took a deep breath. He looked up, silent. Not at the result, but at the form.
When he left, he found Hawthorne standing at the back of the room.
— You convinced without shouting. And you moved without seeming needy. — he said.
— It was the hardest one so far.
— And it will get harder. But today, you gave a voice to someone who didn't have one. And that... is the beginning of everything.
That night, Gustavo wrote in his notebook:
"It's not about winning. It's about making someone heard. Because silence, in Law, is dangerous."
Chapter 14 – The Invisible Art
June 2012 – Harvard Law School, Room K121
Room K121 was in a far corner of the main building. The windows were always closed. The name of the course was almost too clinical:
"Intensive Workshop: Negotiation Techniques and Resolution Strategies in Hostile Contexts."
Gustavo noticed that there were only 12 students enrolled—all third-year students except him. In fact, he shouldn't even be there. The elective was technically for more advanced students. But a professor had personally recommended his name, and the acceptance email came with a single sentence:
"If you're ready to understand what isn't taught, come."
The room was quiet, almost solemn. The students sat around an oval table of dark wood. In the center was a single black leather briefcase.
At 9:00 a.m. sharp, the door opened. And she walked in.
Tall, straight, with close-cropped gray hair and sober clothing—dark pants, a black button-down shirt, and a blazer without any insignia. No smile. Eyes that seemed to have seen deserts, closed rooms, and war rooms.
"Good morning," she said in a low but extremely clear voice.
She placed the folder on the table and opened it.
"My name is Eleanor Voss. I worked for 17 years as a field agent for the CIA, focusing on negotiations with insurgents, defusing armed crises, and freeing hostages. Now, I'm a visiting professor at this institution. What we're going to do here… you won't find it in any law textbook."
She walked around the table, looking each student in the eye.
"Negotiation isn't about logic. It's about human behavior in the face of chaos. If you think you're going to apply Harvard techniques in a warehouse with a man holding a detonator… you're missing the point." But if they learn to understand the other side more than they understand themselves, then maybe they can make a difference in the real world.
Silence.
— Let's begin.
First task: The Breath of Silence
The students were instructed to sit across from a partner. For two minutes, they were not allowed to speak. They were only allowed to maintain eye contact and observe.
Gustavo was staring at a third-grader named Reina. She was direct, confident, always with her gaze raised. But in that exercise, he noticed something different: her eyes seemed to dart away for the first few seconds, and then harden. A pattern of emotional defense.
—What did you learn about her, Gustavo? — Eleanor asked, as soon as time was up.
—She avoids vulnerability at first. But then she hardens like emotional armor. She is not comfortable being observed in silence.
Reina smiled, a little surprised.
—That's true. That was… disconcerting.
—Good reading — Eleanor said. — The first secret of negotiation is to see what is not said. Because what is said... any idiot can repeat.
Second stage: The Hostage Case
The class was divided into two groups. One would be the "intermediary", the other would be "separatist militants" holding a political hostage.
Gustavo was the main intermediary.
The script was dense. The militants demanded the release of two prisoners in exchange for the hostage, an American diplomat. Any miscommunication could lead to immediate "execution". It was a drill, but the emotional pressure was real.
Dark room, timer counting down, and a voice call via loudspeaker.
"You have 20 minutes. Begin," Eleanor announced.
Gustavo took a deep breath.
"Hello. This is David Moraes, designated as the neutral interlocutor. I am here to listen, not to judge."
The voice of the insurgent "leader" sounded cold.
— You speak like a diplomat. That disgusts us.
Gustavo calmly replied:
— I speak like someone who knows that losing an ally or a brother costs both sides the same.
There was a pause on the other side.
— Do you think you understand something?
— No. I want to understand. And I'm not afraid of what I hear.
The game went on. Gustavo avoided making promises, but validated emotions. He avoided direct confrontation, but dismantled threats by asking questions.
"Why is your group still keeping the hostage alive? What does that mean to you?"
"What needs to change so that you feel you've been heard?"
The final response from the "militants" was unexpected.
— The release... can wait. We want to speak to the hostage's father. We know he works with nuclear energy. We want explanations.
Gustavo looked at the timer: there were 40 seconds left.
— I can bring his father. But this needs to be a mutual gesture. You give me proof of life, and I will bring you what you ask for.
Pause.
— Agreed. We will send you a video in 3 minutes.
Simulation over.
Eleanor stood up.
— Excellent emotional decompression, Gustavo. You created cooperation where there was only threat.
In the following days, the course intensified. They learned:
Active listening techniques in international conflicts;
The conscious use of nonverbal language in hostile environments;
How to deal with ego, fear, trauma and delusions at a negotiating table.
The theory of "Emotional Anchor Points" — small gestures that connect logic to emotion and make difficult decisions easier.
In a special exercise, Eleanor took Gustavo aside.
— Tomorrow, I want you to lead a real scenario. You will receive the details 10 minutes before. You will have no way to prepare. Just like in the real world.
Challenge Day – "Embassy Scenario"
Gustavo received the folder. He opened it.
"You are representing the American embassy in an unstable country. A hacker attack has exposed confidential documents, and the local government is threatening to expel all diplomats. Your role is to prevent the expulsion, keep the dialogue open, and ensure the protection of the American team. The local authority is furious. The meeting is now."
Gustavo entered the room set up as a fictional embassy.
Across the table, two actors — experienced ones — played tense and authoritarian foreign officials.
— You lied to our people! — one of them shouted.
Gustavo didn't blink.
— If I said you were never spied on, I would be underestimating your intelligence. And that would be a mistake.
The officers looked at each other.
— What do you propose?
— I propose limited transparency. We send the head of security to meet with your committee, and in exchange, you suspend the expulsion for 72 hours.
— And if we refuse?
— History will be written without your voice. And every negotiation without a voice... is a defeat in disguise.
Silence.
Eleanor watched from the doorway.
At the end of the exercise, the "officers" declared:
— This negotiator managed to maintain our position without escalating the conflict. And he made us feel heard.
After class, Eleanor approached Gustavo. For the first time, she smiled slightly.
— Do you know what you have?
— No. But I would love to know.
— You listen with your ego turned off. That's rare.
— I'm just trying to understand the pain behind the threat.
— Keep it up. In court, in life… or maybe one day… in the field.
That night, Gustavo stayed up late in his dorm, looking out at the city of Boston, writing in his notebook:
"Negotiation is diving into the other person's abyss without forgetting where the margin is. It's not winning. It's coming out whole with the other person. Even when the world falls apart."
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