Chapter 7 - The Final Account
The final trial of Thaddeus Voss and the twelve specialists took place in the late autumn of 2027, in a small, secure federal courtroom that was closed to the public and monitored by three different units of United States Marshals.
The thirteen men sat in a long row behind the defense table, their faces gray, their clothes loose from eighteen months in the high-security cells downstate. They didn't look like corporate directors or Ivy League physicians anymore; they looked like the wreckage of an old ship that had been smashed against the rocks of August Cain’s ledger.
Daniel Cole, the chief corporate auditor whom August had brought in from Chicago to review the logistics accounts, stood before the judge’s bench with a stack of financial analytical reports that were three feet high.
"The total asset liquidation is complete, Your Honor," Daniel Cole said, his voice resonant and professional. "Every clinic, every private real estate holding, and every offshore account held by the defendants has been converted into liquid capital. A total of one hundred and forty-two million dollars has been transferred into the permanent trust for the Holloway-Cain Children’s Hospital, which is currently under construction on the South Side."
The lead doctor, Alistair Sterling, stood up from his chair, his hands shaking as he clutched the wooden railing of the defense box. "Your Honor! This is confiscation! We were forced to sign those transfer papers under duress in Mr. Cain’s cellar! We were threatened with... with the well behind the stables!"
The judge, an old, iron-faced jurist named Henderson who had known August’s father for forty years, looked down over his bench with an expression of cold indifference.
"Dr. Sterling," the judge said, his voice like dry leaves scraping across concrete. "The court has reviewed the medical logs from the night of January fourteenth. The court has also reviewed the synthetic steroid prescriptions you signed for a three-year-old child while accepting a gold watch from a known syndicate intermediary. If Mr. Cain chose to hold his consultations in his cellar, that is a matter for the local zoning board. As far as this court is concerned, you are fortunate he allowed you to keep your tongue."
He slammed his gavel down with a single, thunderous crack that echoed off the high plaster ceiling.
"Sentence is passed. The defendants are remanded to the federal penitentiary at Marion for a term of twenty-five years without the possibility of parole. Clear the courtroom."
As the Marshals moved in to lead the thirteen men away through the side doors, August Cain stood up from the front row of the gallery. He didn't look at Thaddeus Voss, who was staring at him with a silent, bitter hatred as the chains clinked around his ankles. He turned his back on them, walking down the center aisle toward the double doors where Della was waiting for him, her dark green coat buttoned against the November wind.
"Is it over?" Della asked as they stepped out onto the wide stone steps of the courthouse, the gray Chicago sky spitting a thin, clean snow across the plaza.
"It’s over, Della," August said, pulling his black wool collar up around his neck. "The doctors have their cells. Thaddeus has his ledger. And the South Side has a hospital where the doctors will have to look at the children instead of the charts."
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, keys on a brass ring—the keys to the front doors of the new brick hospital facility on Michigan Avenue. He placed them in her gloved hand, his fingers closing around hers until the cold of the keys vanished beneath his touch.
May you like
"You’re the chief medical administrator, Doctor," August said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as she looked up at him with a sudden, beautiful smile that made the gray winter sky seem completely bright. "Now let's go home. Posy has already told the butler that if we're late for Thanksgiving dinner, she's going to feed the entire turkey to the rabbit."
They walked down the stone steps together, their figures small against the massive ironwork of the city buildings, but their steps were steady, warm, and completely clean of the silence that had tried to bury them.
