From “Walk with Me: A Journey through the Landscape of Trauma” by Ellen Corcella
I had barely slept that night or any night in the past few months. I had worked day and night for the past two years on this case and companion mob prosecutions. Kind FBI agents brought milkshakes to fill my churning stomach and add nutrients to an adrenaline-fueled body. The prosecutors – George Stamboulitis, Andrew Weissmann, Valerie Caproni, and I-were subjected to relentless personal assaults on our integrity because of the compromised DeVecchio-Scarpa relationship. We expected defense attorneys to badger us, but federal judges pointed accusing fingers at us as if we were responsible for DeVecchio’s mess.
My ability to keep my composure and control any emotions dissipated in the face of the relentless accusations. The behaviors of the judges and defense attorneys went beyond the ordinary bounds of traditional advocacy in which lawyers laid out the facts and harnessed the law to support one’s position. The attacks were personal; and I was done with being the scapegoat for another person’s displeasure. I did not care if it was my mother, my supervisor, or a federal judge. I was done. Cracks and fissures undermined the barrier between my outer self and innermost being. A volatile mix of hurt, sadness, disappointments, anger, and rage blew through these cracks.
The constant, false, personal attacks from defense lawyers and judges accusing us, the prosecution teams, of withholding information, violating disclosure laws, and protecting a violent informant, broke the internal safety valve that separated my past from the present. My body did not distinguish between a highly charged, professional environment and my mother hurling insults at me. At the height of my professional career, my body believed my life was in danger, and I began to fight.