What I Learned from Serving on the Jury in the Casey Hall Trial
The Moment It Hit Me
You get that card in the mail and your heart stops for just a second—it’s time for jury duty.
I wasn’t trying to come up with 100 excuses to get out of it. My honest thought was, “Show up. Be myself. Answer truthfully. See what happens.” So that’s what I did.
We walked into the courtroom and saw the screen: “The State of Texas vs. Casey Hall.” At first, the name didn’t mean anything to me. I didn’t know who Casey Hall was. But that would change quickly.
Within the hour, I could see her sitting just a few feet in front of me. Her face looked familiar—maybe I’d seen her in the news over the years—but there was no pulling out my phone to do a quick Google search. The reality of the case was unfolding in real-time, and I had a front-row seat.
 The Reality of Sitting in Judgment
Throughout the trial, we were reminded over and over again: Judge the facts—not the person.
But that’s easier said than done, especially when the person on trial used to be the law in her community.
Casey Hall was a former District Attorney. She had spent years prosecuting cases, representing justice. And now, she was the one facing charges of theft by a public servant and misapplication of fiduciary property.
As jurors, we had to ask ourselves the hardest questions:
Did we have enough evidence? Was there room for doubt? What does justice look like in a case like this?
 Reaching the Guilty Verdict
They say we were in deliberation for under two hours—but honestly, it felt much longer.
We reviewed every piece of evidence—some of it three and four times. The prosecution presented a very clear case. We saw her bank records. We looked at checks she wrote and deposited. Examined her signatures. Even exhibits submitted by the defense kept circling us back to one conclusion.
You have to go into every corner of doubt we could find, always asking ourselves, “Are we the kind of jury we’d want if we were in her shoes?”
And we asked that seriously—because Casey Hall had trusted this system her entire career. We owed her our best effort. And we gave it.
In the end, we returned a guilty verdict. Not because of who she was, but because the evidence left no reasonable alternative. I hope the people of her community would respect that. We did the work. We didn’t rush. We didn’t take it lightly.
 Sentencing: Justice and Compassion in Tension
We were called back the next day to decide her sentence.
None of us expected to have that responsibility. It’s one thing to examine evidence—it’s another to decide someone’s future.
In a world where justice often plays out in headlines and social media debates, being inside that jury room was completely different. We weren’t reacting emotionally. We weren’t swayed by public opinion. We had to look at the law, the facts, and only what was presented to us in court.
We each brought our own lens—our experiences, our instincts, our doubts—but we had to talk it out. We had to listen. We had to come to a mutual decision about a punishment that would shape someone’s life forever.
Because this wasn’t just a courtroom moment. It was a life-altering judgment for Casey Hall.
We did our best to carry that weight with compassion and clarity.
Casey, I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. But if you do—I hope you know we did exactly what you’ve asked countless juries to do during your own time as a prosecutor. We did our job. We didn’t rush it. We didn’t take it lightly.
And while it was our responsibility to determine a punishment, we also tried to honor the process you once stood for. We hope, as an attorney and former public servant, you can respect the integrity with which we approached it.
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What Serving Taught Me About Starting Over
This case reminded me how fast a reputation can fall—and how hard it is to rebuild. But it also reminded me how essential it is that we do rebuild. For others. For ourselves.
That’s what starting over is really about.
It hit me deeply because I’ve been there too. At 26, one accident on a loading dock ended my career as a truck driver. I had a seizure, and that chapter of my life was over. Just like that.
In that moment, I was exactly where Casey Hall is now—forced to start over.
It wouldn’t be the last time in my life, either. But every time, I started over with new wisdom, hard-won perspective, and a stronger sense of what matters.
That’s why I write my Starting Over Newsletter. Because starting over isn’t just something people like Casey or I go through—it’s something we all face at one time or another.
 Call to Action: Join the Starting Over Newsletter
If this story struck a chord with you…
Have you ever been in a season of starting over—after a loss, a mistake, or a turning point—then I invite you to join me in the Starting Over Newsletter.
It’s a weekly space where we talk honestly about rebuilding, reimagining, and finding new paths forward—no matter how life has changed.
Click here to subscribe to the Starting Over Newsletter
Because justice isn’t just about verdicts.
It’s about truth, redemption, and the courage to begin again.
Tim Gillette
