It was November 28, 2002, Thanksgiving Day, and I was at a maximum security prison in New York.

After you.

I'm a longtime producer for Dateline, and I was working on a story about two men who were locked up for a high-profile murder they say they didn't commit.

The prison lobby was busy that morning.

Several officers sat behind a large square security desk,

slowly processing a long line of visitors.

There were signs everywhere, telling me where to stand, where to wait.

A woman approached me.

She was holding the hands of these two little boys.

She said, my name is Maria Velasquez. My son,

John Adrian, JJ, he's in prison here, but he's innocent. Can you help us? She said she'd been waiting,

hoping to catch me, that she'd heard from her son about the story I was working on. These are my grandchildren, she said.

I still remember the look on the younger one's face.

He seemed confused, like, why am I here?

Why is this guy looking at me?

All I could think in that moment was whether their dad was innocent or guilty.

These little guys should not be in a

prison on Thanksgiving Day. I told her I'd read anything she wanted to send, but I made no promises.

One week after that visit, I received a box of paperwork, followed by a letter. It was from the father of those two little boys.

December 5th, 2002.

Dear Mr. Slepian, I spent a lot of time trying to familiarize myself with the law.

Monday through Thursday, anyone who knows me knows that I can be found in the law library.

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