PEOPLE OF THE STATE OF NEW JERSEY V. WILLIAM MATTHEW Stockton Quinn begins this morning at the Mercer County Courthouse in downtown Trenton. We pull into a parking space a few blocks away, all five of us in the Mercedes, with Lawrence behind the wheel. Summoning his courage, he breathes in and squares his shoulders. “We’re here.” He shuts off the car then walks around to Eleanor’s side and opens her door. She offers her hand, his Queen.

Head high, Lawrence canvasses his surroundings. Today, he’s dressed for success, wearing a charcoal Brioni suit that accentuates his trim build. DeFiore didn’t want him or my brothers to wear sunglasses, so Lawrence’s face is bare. A stunning blue tie brings out his stunning blue eyes. His polished shoes tap on the pavement.

A security detail meets us at the corner. As we head up the street, we’re consumed by fear and doubt. But DeFiore insists appearances matter, so we raise our chins and stride forward. We move in a single scrum, flanked on both sides by bodyguards. On the next corner, we fall in with DeFiore, his defense team, and four uniformed policemen, who escort us the last few blocks to the courthouse.

It’s an overcast and blustery day, one that feels raw and damp, despite an absence of rain. The wind whips through the sky, lifting our hair and ruffling our clothes. My skirt flares up, exposing my thighs. Earlier, Eleanor chastised me for the length of my skirt. “Of all days, Cassandra? Everyone will be looking at you!” She was right, but I wore it anyway.

The wind makes conversation difficult, but soon I hear a low rumble that grows louder as we get closer. The interest in Billy’s case that dropped off after his arraignment has returned with a frightening intensity. His alleged crimes have hit a national nerve. Across the country, morning shows are airing segments. Trial reporters live-stream the play-by-play. Radio shows are inviting callers. Everyone has an opinion. Most of the coverage is, unfortunately, negative. Billy is called Pretty Boy Quinn, Rich Runner Rapist, Princeton Rapist. Even the papers of record, the New York Times and Washington Post, are embracing the rich rapist angle.

The crowd outside the courthouse is immense and deafening. Holding up signs—JUSTICE FOR SURVIVORS and IRRATIONAL, VINDICTIVE YOUNG WOMAN—angry females of all ages chant rapist, rapist, rapist, prison, prison, prison. Across the street, groups of burly men wear T-shirts that say THE REAL RAPE VICTIMS ARE THE FALSELY ACCUSED. Several link arms, forming a human chain, and shout innocent until proven guilty is an American right.