The Courtroom
After the fire,
I once naively believed
that the courtroom
would give me justice.
At that time,
I still believed in the system.
I believed that if I presented the evidence,
the truth would be seen.
I believed that if I had done nothing wrong,
the law would eventually stand with the victim.
Later,
I learned
that some things
do not work that way.
Before the trial began,
a lawyer quietly said something to me:
“Remember this.
If they are willing to give you even one dollar,
take it—
and run.”
At the time,
I did not understand.
I even thought:
Was he being too cynical?
Later,
a very well-known real estate broker
asked to meet with me through a mutual friend.
He told me:
“All the lawyers you are facing now
work for the insurance companies.”
Then he looked at me
and slowly said:
“Do you know how much power
insurance companies have in America?
They are lobbyists.
They play golf with judges.
They all know each other.
They are friends.”
Why did he know?
Because
he was part of that world too.
And then he said something even heavier:
“You think you can win this case
through prayer and God?
That is impossible.”
That sentence
truly wounded me.
So in the end,
I did not take his advice.
I chose to continue the lawsuit.
Many years later,
I still sometimes wonder:
At that time,
was he genuinely trying to help me?
Or did he simply hope
I would stop making things difficult?
Perhaps
only God knows.
The lawsuit lasted five years.
The actual trial itself
lasted only ten days.
But before those ten days
came years of exhaustion.
We sued many companies.
Too many people were involved.
My lawyer
took depositions from twenty-three individuals.
Each deposition
was an entire thick volume.
Mine alone
filled three large binders.
Later,
I spent half a year
analyzing all those materials by myself.
During those six months,
I fasted almost every day.
I would not eat
until four in the afternoon.
And during that period,
something strange happened.
I began to see very clearly
what each person was thinking.
How they protected one another.
The true purpose
behind every sentence.
Those testimonies,
which at first looked chaotic,
slowly began forming
a complete structure.
My husband and I
had, in fact,
walked into a trap from the very beginning.
Later,
even the opposing counsel privately told my lawyer
that after the case ended,
they would tell him the truth.
But while reading those depositions,
I had already known.
During the trial,
I sat beside my attorney.
Spread across the table
were the analytical charts
I had drawn myself.
I constantly reminded him:
What question to ask next.
Who was lying.
Where the holes were.
Eventually,
my lawyer said to me with a bitter smile:
“In every other case,
I lead the client.
Only in your case
were you leading me.”
But what the courtroom truly taught me
was not the law.
It was
the power inside systems.
I will never forget
what my lawyer told me:
“When you are in court,
you must behave like an English gentleman.
Even if it feels as though
a fox is chewing through your heart,
you cannot show pain on your face.”
At that time,
I was still too young.
I accepted that kind of “dignity.”
But now, looking back,
I only want to say:
Why was I not allowed to hurt?
I had nearly lost everything.
I lost almost half a million dollars.
My husband’s later illness
was also connected
to years of stress.
And I myself
spent countless nights
walking endlessly
just to calm my emotions.
Even years later,
that long accumulation of pressure
formed a lipoma in my left shoulder.
Eventually,
it had to be surgically removed.
So now, looking back,
no matter how solemn a courtroom may seem,
I had every right
to break down and cry inside it.
But what I could never forget most
was something the opposing attorney said
during closing arguments:
“When Americans make mistakes,
they admit their mistakes.
But when Chinese people make mistakes,
they only blame others.”
At that moment,
what he humiliated
was not only me.
He humiliated
where I came from.
My entire people.
And because he was the one giving the final closing statement,
my lawyer
never even had the chance to respond.
Later,
when we walked out of the courtroom,
I went directly up to him.
And I said:
“I pray that my God
will forgive you.”
I will never forget it:
He stepped backward in fear
several times.
In the end,
out of the twelve jurors,
only two Black jurors stood with me.
And later,
one white female juror
walked up to me
and apologized.
She said:
“I’m sorry.
I did not continue standing with you.
The pressure was too great.”
If she had not changed her position,
the case could have ended in a mistrial.
I still would have had a chance.
Many years later,
I still remember the expression on her face
when she apologized.
Because in that entire lawsuit,
it was one of the few moments
that made me feel:
Humanity still existed.
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