“Did you believe you would survive, Mrs. Vance?” the prosecutor asked me.

“No,” I said, my voice steady. “But I knew we had to try. My husband and I survived because we had each other. Beatrice Langford had nothing but her own greed.”

Beatrice’s lawyer tried to cross-examine me, suggesting that the fire could have been an accident, a faulty wire in an old building.

“A faulty wire does not pour gasoline on the stairs,” I replied simply.

The lawyer sat down, offering no further questions.

The jury deliberated for less than three hours.

When they returned, the courtroom was so quiet you could hear the soft hum of the air conditioning.

Beatrice stood up to face the jury foreman.

“On the first count of grand fraud and embezzlement, we find the defendant, Beatrice Langford, guilty,” the foreman read.

“On the second count of arson, we find the defendant guilty.”

“On the third count of attempted murder, we find the defendant guilty.”

Darrow received a similar verdict, though his cooperation earned him a slightly lighter sentence.

Beatrice was sentenced to thirty years without the possibility of parole.