Chapter 7 - The Trial of Derek Vance(Length: ~1800 words)
Three months later.
The main trial courtroom of the State Supreme Court was standing-room-only.
Sitting at the defense table in a bright orange county jail jumpsuit, handcuffed at his wrists and ankles, was Derek Vance.
His former polished, handsome appearance was completely destroyed. His hair was shaved short, his face hollow and pale, and his hands trembled continuously as he stared down at the wooden table in front of him. Beside him sat a court-appointed public defender—his high-priced private attorneys had abandoned him the moment his bank accounts were frozen.
Sitting across the room at the prosecution table, wearing an immaculate navy silk dress, was me. Beside me sat Nolan and ADA Karen Walsh.
In the witness box sat Clara Reed, wearing a plain gray prison jumpsuit, crying softly into a paper tissue as she gave her sworn testimony into the microphone.
As part of her plea bargain to avoid a five-year prison sentence, Clara had agreed to turn state's evidence, testifying against Derek in open court.
"Derek told me he was liquidating Emily's company accounts," Clara wept into the microphone, her voice echoing off the high stone walls. "He told me she was too stupid to notice... he promised we would move to Switzerland after the wedding... I... I did whatever he asked me to do..."
"Objection!" Derek’s public defender muttered weakly.
"Overruled," Judge Evelyn Harris stated sternly from the elevated bench.
After four days of overwhelming physical, digital, and forensic testimony, the prosecution rested its case.
Judge Harris looked down from the bench at Derek Vance with absolute, cold severity.
"Mr. Vance," Judge Harris declared, her voice echoing clearly through the silent courtroom. "In my twenty-five years on the judicial bench, I have rarely witnessed an act of such calculated, arrogant greed. You took advantage of a loving partner, embezzled nearly a million dollars from a company that trusted you, and plotted to ruin her life."
Derek lowered his head onto the defense table, dry, broken sobs shaking his shoulders.
"It is the sentence of this court," Judge Harris announced, slamming her heavy wooden gavel down, "that you, Gregory Derek Vance, serve a term of EIGHT YEARS in the State Department of Corrections without possibility of parole for five years. Furthermore, full financial restitution of eight hundred thousand dollars is ordered to be paid to Vance & Associates."
CRACK!
The gavel echoed like a thunderclap through the courtroom.
Two armed sheriff's deputies grabbed Derek by his jumpsuit, dragging him to his feet. As he was marched past the prosecution table toward the holding cell door, Derek turned his head, his tear-filled eyes catching mine one last time.
He looked at me with eyes filled with complete, total ruin, pleading silently for a single drop of mercy.
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I didn't flinch. I sat tall, my posture immaculate, looking straight through him as if he were made of glass.
He had tried to destroy my future. Instead, he had written his own prison sentence.
