Sam could see his mom, Michele, close to the front of the room. A dirty undershirt poked through the collar of his orange jumpsuit. Usually clean-shaven, Sam sported a patchy, unkempt beard and a wiry mustache. His hair, which had been combed neatly to the right in his yearbook photos, now fell in a loose mess around his ears. He looked over at the judge and at his lawyer. ![]() He appeared to stand on his tiptoes for a moment, peering through the bars at the gallery where his parents and a couple of family friends sat. From his cage in the far back of a courtroom in Newport Beach, California, Sam Woodward looked around.
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