After five days of jury deliberations, the culmination came earlier this week in Manhattan with a guilty verdict.
The identities of jurors were kept secret. The identities of the jurors were kept secret, but there were clues in records about their identities and hints about how they came to a decision. This was despite a five-day delay due to an increase in COVID-19 cases in New York City.
These are reflections about the participants and how the discussions unfolded.
Six men and six ladies from different educational and career backgrounds were selected to participate in the selection process. They showed no preconceived notions and they passed with flying colors.
None of them had any interest in social media or a particular impression on it. When asked by a juror what she does for fun? She replied, "I love to clean."
Some of their jobs were a precursor to the talent they showed for the tedious, laborious process toward a solution.
They could be identified only by their numbers and were attentive throughout the trial. They sent occasional questions, made notes, and requested transcripts for most of the key testimony. There was never a hint of a deadlock.
They informed the judge Tuesday that "our deliberations are moving forward and we are making good progress," in a matter of fact note, indicating the verdict for Tuesday.
Alison J. Nathan, U.S. District Judge, had spent a decade at the bench and was now able to bring her largest case with Ghislaine Maxiwell.
Nathan was informed by the U.S. 2nd Circuit Court of Appeals in Manhattan that she was to be a part of the trial. Circuit Court of Appeals in Manhattan. This promotion forced Nathan to suspend the trial for three more days as she traveled to Washington to answer questions from senators.
Nathan was confident and decisive in making decisions. She also seemed immovable once she reached a decision. Maxwell was the best person to see Nathan refuse bail requests again and again.
During the deliberations, however, the judge admitted that it was the jury who was in control. She allowed them to make their decisions during work hours, even though it was against her instructions.
Nathan didn't hide her concern from the jury about the possibility of a coronavirus epidemic among jurors. She invited jurors to meet on the third day of the Christmas holiday, during the first week. They declined.
On Monday, she increased the pressure and asked them to stay for an additional hour every night. Again, they declined.
Tuesday was Tuesday's day for her concerns. She told lawyers that she was concerned about the "astronomical spike" of coronavirus cases in New York City, which was fueled by the omicron variation. After defense lawyers feared it would pressure them into a verdict, she kept her worries secret from the jury.
On Wednesday, she was ready for more pressure and told jurors that they would work on New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, as well as Sunday, if there wasn't a verdict. Nathan took to the bench later that day, feeling heavy and announcing that there had been a verdict.
MAXWELL'S FINAL DAY
Maxwell started the last day of his trial well.
After four days of deliberations, a jury sent an early morning notice to the judge requesting transcripts from half-a dozen witnesses. The jury also requested the transcript of Maxwell's testimony from an expert.
Did it signal that they weren't sure and that an acquittal was possible?
Maxwell seemed to believe so as she watched the judge sort out matters with the jury outside the courtroom. She blinked her eyes above her face mask and turned her chair towards the courtroom sketch artists, striking a pose.
The deliberations continued. The jury remained silent. There were no more notes for several hours.
However, the last note came at the end.
The judge declared, "We have a verdict," as the courtroom remained silent.
The defense team, which had been engaged in public displays of affection for Maxwell, sat still as Maxwell's verdict was read. She had hugged her lawyers as they went from and to the courtroom on most days.
There were no hugs this time.