Chapter 9 - The Final Verdict
The criminal trial was remarkably brief. The mountain of evidence Richard had compiled was insurmountable. The forged documents, the illegal offshore accounts, the testimony from his own junior partners trying to save themselves—it was a bloodbath.
The judge did not grant leniency.
“Mr. Vance,” the judge declared, looking down from the bench with absolute disgust. “Your actions demonstrate a calculated, predatory abuse of trust, not only against your clients but against your own family. I sentence you to eight years in a federal penitentiary, without the possibility of early parole.”
The gavel slammed down. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
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Julian slumped in his chair, completely broken. As the bailiffs placed the handcuffs on his wrists, he turned back to look at the gallery. I was sitting in the front row. I didn't smile. I didn't gloat. I just looked at him with the cold indifference he had once shown me.
Outside the courthouse, I saw Sylvia. She was wearing a cheap, faded coat, holding a plastic shopping bag. She looked ancient, frail, and terrified. She tried to catch my eye, to plead for mercy, but my security team stepped between us, shielding me from her toxic presence forever. She was alone, broke, and homeless. Poetic justice.
