The Last Dance

In fact, it's unlikely that she and her husband will receive the $5 million.

Ford persuaded the judge to instruct the jury to render its verdict against Troostwood Banquet Hall Inc., a limited liability corporation of which Haynes is the sole shareholder, even though Haynes often referred to himself and represented himself in various documents as the banquet hall's owner.

Because the judgment was against the corporation rather than against Haynes, the Carrolls' restitution can be paid only out of the corporation's assets: its building, valued at less than $500,000, and a $500,000 insurance policy.

Haynes once held a $1 million policy, but he had recently changed to the less expensive one.

"As a matter of fact, he only wanted a $100,000 [policy] when [we] first discussed insurance," Haynes' insurance agent, Raymond Edgerson, testified in a sworn deposition before the trial. "He wanted to underinsure. He was trying to keep his costs down."

Ford says he doesn't know when his client changed his insurance policy.

The $500,000 policy is with Atlantic Casualty. The Carrolls will have a hard time claiming it, though, because the insurance company maintains that the policy contains a clause that precludes payment on injuries or death caused by third-party criminal activity, even if it takes place on the policyholder's property.

"Nobody wants to be accountable," Ronnie Carroll says, clearly frustrated. "Everybody wants to say, 'It wasn't me. It was the other guy.'"

So the Carrolls can expect more legal wrangling. Fletcher is optimistic, though, and expects to eventually collect $3.5 million.

Ford says he doesn't believe the Carrolls will end up with any money from the judgment. The hall's debts, he says, are likely to be greater than what the building would net in a forced sale.

The Carrolls will likely assume ownership of the hall, a prospect they're not excited about.

"If it was given to me, I'd go out there and I'd hire a demolition crew and tear it down," Cynthia Carroll says. "Why would I want to drive down Troost and look over there at a place that was unsafe that caused my daughter's last days on earth? I don't even want to look at it."

Besides, the lawsuit never was about money, Fletcher says. "Our position was always to close this place down."

Cynthia Carroll agrees. "My thing is, everybody needs to be accountable for their own actions," she says.

In many ways, the Carrolls see the legal system as the only means by which to discipline the community, the way they disciplined their own children.

"I guess I came up in the old school," Ronnie Carroll explains. "My grandmother had a hand in raising me. And she believed in getting a little switch or a belt and whipping the kids' tails when they get out of line. So I somewhat took part in that. My kids knew that when they got out of line they had to answer to me.

"That's what I instilled in my kids," he continues. "Follow the rules, live by the rules, and you'll be OK. You break the rules, then your butt belongs to me."

The Carrolls might ultimately succeed in closing Troostwood Banquet Hall and sending a message to others who would host large teen events. And the criminal trial might end with a young man behind bars. But the world around them remains unruly.

"People have called here on several occasions threatening my wife, telling her she wasn't going to make it to [the criminal] trial," Ronnie Carroll says. "One day a phone call came in from this pay phone right here in back of the house. They waited until they saw my son leave and went to the pay phone and told her, 'We know you're at home alone.'"

He shakes his head. "People are threatening my wife," he says. "For what? She didn't do anything. She didn't do anything. My daughter didn't do anything."