Chapter 7 - The Plea Bargain That Wasn't
The preliminary hearing at the Denver County Courthouse was a media circus.
Television news vans lined the street outside, their satellite dishes raised toward the sky. Reporters crowded the steps, shouting questions as the Vance family arrived in two black Lincoln Navigators.
Arthur Vance looked ten years older. His suit hung loosely on his shoulders, his face pale and drawn. Victoria walked beside him, wearing oversized sunglasses to hide her swollen eyes, flanked by two private security guards.
I arrived with Nathan, Natalie, and two armed bodyguards provided by Nathan’s firm.
I wore a tailored navy trousers suit, my hair styled elegantly to cover the small white bandage near my ear. I walked up the marble steps with my chin up, my eyes fixed straight ahead.
Inside Courtroom 402, the atmosphere was tense.
Diego was brought in through the side door wearing an orange jumpsuit, heavy handcuffs, and leg shackles.
His hair was unwashed, his face stubbled, and his posture slumped in utter defeat.
When his eyes met mine across the aisle, he flinched, quickly lowering his gaze to the wooden defense table.
His attorney, Richard Sterling, stood up as the judge took the bench.
"Your Honor," Sterling announced, his voice lacking its previous arrogance. "My client wishes to enter an emergency plea negotiation. We are prepared to offer a full guilty plea to a reduced misdemeanor charge of simple assault, with two years of unsupervised probation and three hundred hours of community service."
The prosecutor stood up instantly. "The State strongly opposes any plea bargain, Your Honor. The victim suffered severe physical injury, and new evidence has emerged showing a premeditated scheme of financial extortion."
The judge—a formidable woman in her sixties with sharp, piercing eyes—looked down at Diego over her reading glasses.
"Mr. Sterling," the judge said, her voice dripping with ice. "Your client threw a heavy ceramic object at his wife's head during a family gathering, inflicting a wound that required seven stitches, while attempting to coerce her into surrendering private real estate. In what world does that constitute 'simple assault'?"
"Your Honor—" Sterling attempted to speak.
"Motion for plea reduction is denied," the judge snapped, slamming her gavel down. "Bail is set at two million dollars, cash or corporate surety. If posted, the defendant will be placed on continuous GPS ankle monitoring and is strictly prohibited from coming within one thousand yards of the victim, her residence, or her place of employment."
Diego gasped, looking at his father in absolute panic. "Dad! Pay the bail! Get me out of here! Please!"
Arthur sat in the front row of the gallery, his face frozen in anguish. He slowly shook his head.
"I can't, Diego," Arthur whispered, his voice carrying through the silent courtroom. "The bank froze all our accounts this morning. The company... the company is going into receivership."
Diego stared at his father as if he had been struck by lightning. "What?! No! Dad, you have to sell the estate! Sell the cars!"
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"There’s nothing left to sell, Diego," Arthur said, tears finally spilling down his aged face. "Your brother Julian and I just received subpoenas from the Federal Bureau of Investigation for corporate tax fraud."
Diego’s knees gave out, and he collapsed into his chair, sobbing hysterically into his shackled hands as the court bailiffs led him back toward the holding cells.
