Chapter 9 - The Trial of the Century
Three months later.
The federal courthouse in downtown Manhattan was surrounded by hundreds of news cameras, satellite trucks, and crowd barricades.
It was the final day of the federal trial against Julian Sterling and the remnants of the Apex Syndicate political network.
I sat in the front row of the prosecutor's gallery, wearing an elegant dark navy dress, holding Dominic’s hand tightly in mine.
Dominic sat beside me, calm, commanding, and impeccably dressed, his presence alone commanding the absolute respect of every legal officer in the room.
Across the courtroom, sitting at the defense table in an orange prison jumpsuit and heavy leg irons, was Julian Sterling.
He looked completely broken. His golden hair was messy, his face pale and sunken, his knee still supported by a heavy steel brace.
The jury foreperson stood up in the box, holding the final verdict sheets.
"On count one: racketeering and conspiracy—how do you find the defendant, Julian Sterling?"
"Guilty," the foreperson declared firmly.
"On count two: attempted murder of a federal officer?"
"Guilty."
"On count three: conspiracy to commit grand larceny and arson?"
"Guilty on all counts."
A quiet, collective sigh of absolute relief rippled through the gallery.
Julian Sterling dropped his head onto the defense table, his shoulders shaking as the federal judge slammed his heavy mahogany gavel down onto the block.
"Julian Sterling," the judge ruled, his voice echoing through the silent courtroom, "you are hereby sentenced to three consecutive life terms at the ADX Florence maximum-security facility, without the possibility of parole."
As the federal marshals pulled Julian to his feet to drag him out through the side doors, Julian turned his head, his hollow, defeated eyes locking onto mine for the very last time.
I didn't look at him with hatred. I didn't look at him with triumph.
I simply lifted my hand, resting it warmly over Dominic’s fingers, looking at Julian with quiet, complete indifference.
The nightmare was over. The debt was paid in full.
As we walked out the front steps of the courthouse into the bright afternoon sunlight, dozens of reporters surged forward, flashing cameras and holding out microphones.
"Miss Vance! Miss Vance! How do you feel about the verdict?!" a reporter shouted.
May you like
I stopped on the stone steps, looking out at the city I had once been forced to hide from, then turning my head to look at the powerful, loving man standing beside me, holding my hand firmly in his.
"I feel," I said, a clear, radiant smile lighting up my face, "like I am finally going home."
