Chapter 5 - The Arraignment of Iron
Friday morning arrived with a bitter, freezing rain that turned the streets of Dayton into black glass. The federal courthouse was barricaded, marshals with automatic weapons standing at every entrance as a transport van delivered Roland Vance and Carl Fletcher to the rear loading dock.
I sat in the secure gallery of the federal courtroom, my hand tightly clasped in Deandra's. Clara Sterling stood at the prosecution podium, her posture straight as an arrow.
When my father was led into the courtroom, he looked different. The expensive Italian suits were gone, replaced by a standard-issue green jumpsuit. His hands were bound by a waist chain, the heavy steel clinking rhythmically against his belt. His face was pale, his eyes sunken, but when he caught sight of me sitting in the front row, his jaw tightened into that familiar, arrogant sneer.
"The defendants stand charged with conspiracy to commit federal kidnapping, human trafficking of minors, and interstate wire fraud," the clerk announced.
Arthur Vance, his attorney, stood up immediately. "Your Honor, my client requires immediate medical furlough. He has a documented heart condition, and the conditions of his current confinement are exacerbating his symptoms. Furthermore, we move to dismiss the indictment based on the fact that the primary source of probable cause is an unverified statement from a minor child with documented familial bias."
The federal judge, a formidable woman named Judge Margaret Ross, leaned forward over her bench, her gaze piercing through Arthur Vance like a laser.
"Mr. Vance," Judge Ross said, her voice echoing off the high wood-paneled walls. "The federal grand jury reviewed over four hundred gigabytes of encrypted financial data recovered from your client's residence last night. We have bank routing numbers, timestamped surveillance footage from the garage, and forensic evidence matching the DNA of five missing children inside a concealed room on his property."
She slammed her gavel down with a crack that sounded like a gunshot. "The motion for medical furlough is denied. The motion for dismissal is denied. The defendants will be held without bond at the federal maximum-security facility in Chicago until the trial date."
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As the marshals pulled Roland toward the side exit, he leaned back, his voice hoarse as he shouted across the courtroom, "You're nothing without my money, Vera! You'll starve out there! You'll come begging for the estate before this is over!"
I didn't blink. I didn't turn away. I watched him until the heavy steel door slammed shut behind him, cutting off his voice forever.
