The story began on a December night in 2012. Weiner, then a 52-year-old man who managed a local Food Lion and attended night classes at a local community college, stopped and picked up 20-year-old Chelsea Steiniger, who was walking from a convenience store to her mother’s house. Steiniger’s boyfriend, Michael Mills, had just informed her that she could not sleep at his apartment, which did not permit guests after a certain hour, so she was angrily headed to stay with her mother. It was cold, it was dark, it was late. Weiner saw her and offered to drive her to her mother’s house, picking her up directly across from the local police station.

Chelsea was pissed at Michael for tossing her out and making her walk home. She was going to show him. She was going to make him regret it.

Most of the rest of the trial narrative unfolds through the sequence of texts Steiniger sent her boyfriend as they drove to her mom’s place.

At 12:10 a.m., Steiniger texted her boyfriend that “some dud[e]” was giving her a ride. At 12:18 a.m., she texted, “he tried to get in my pants.” At 12:21 a.m., she texted, “just pulled up he wont let me out of the car.”

At 12:23 a.m., the texts allegedly start coming from Weiner instead of Steiniger, the first one reading: “[S]he doesn’t have her phone.” And at 12:27: “Shes so sexy when shes passed out.” At 12:28: “She was a fighter ill give her that much.” At 12:36: “Ill let her wake before i let you talk to her.”

Long story short, nothing about Chelsea’s story bore out. Nothing. So what? The cops found Chelsea at home, no signs of any crime, so naturally, they arrested Weiner.

In preparing for trial, the Albermarle District Attorney learned that the texts came not from the claimed abandoned house where Chelsea claimed Weiner took her, and from which she escaped, but from the cell tower at her mom’s home. This came from two “respected detectives,” both of whom came up with the same conclusion, and that conclusion was exculpatory. So naturally, they didn’t reveal it to Weiner’s lawyer.

At the trial, no physical evidence was presented that in any way connected Weiner to the abandoned house or to Steiniger’s cellphone. No rag was found soaked with a chemical that could knock you out in 15 seconds.

Weiner was convicted by the jury on Steiniger’s testimony. He was immediately sent to jail. This was a case where not only was there a massive failure of evidence, as well as a massive failure by the prosecutors in fulfilling their duty to disclose Brady material, but a much deeper problem, that Lithwick delicately describes as “tunnel vision.” And perhaps that’s the problem right there: Facing a mountain of evidence that showed there was no way the alleged victim could be telling the truth, the prosecutor believed her, then believed her, and then believed her some more. And, it should be noted, the jury did too. And, though it’s unmentioned, the judge didn’t toss the case, either before or upon the verdict. In retrospect, and overwhelmingly demonstrated by Lithwick’s post, the idea that a good guy like Mark Weiner could have been convicted of a non-existent crime seems ludicrous.

And yet, it’s hardly ludicrous, in the sense that believing is an extremely powerful tool. It puts blinders on otherwise good people, empowering them to rationalize away the flagrant flaws, the inconsistency, the impossibility of “facts” in favor of just, well, believing.

What makes this a broader concern than one outlier prosecution is that there is a strong push to believe first, and perhaps last as well, when it comes to allegations such as these. There has been a coordinated effort to create the myth that false accusations almost never happen, but that questioning accusations like Chelsea’s would cause victims to be fearful of coming forward, fearful of having their accusations questioned. Like they were the criminals.

Like Chelsea.

And even if there are false accusations, it’s the price society must pay to make absolutely certain that no rapist gets away.

Like Mark Weiner.

As long as we’re all good with that, then this case is no big deal. It’s just the price of believing.