Chapter 6 - Judgment Day
The federal courtroom was packed to capacity. Journalists, financial analysts, and curious onlookers filled every wooden bench, all eager to catch a glimpse of the man who had lost a billion-dollar empire overnight.
I walked into the gallery wearing a tailored midnight-blue suit, flanked by two of my father’s top legal advisors. Elena walked closely behind, carrying a leather portfolio. The murmur of the courtroom died down instantly as the bailiff announced the judge's entry.
Kyle was led in through a side door, wearing an orange jumpsuit. His hair was unkempt, his skin pale, and the confident posture he once carried was entirely gone. He looked older, gaunt, and broken. As he took his seat at the defense table, his eyes swept across the room and landed on me.
For a long moment, our eyes locked. There was no anger left in my gaze—only absolute indifference. That indifference hurt him more than any shout or curse ever could. He dropped his head into his hands, staring at the polished wood of the table.
The judge, a stern-faced woman with decades of experience, adjusted her glasses and reviewed the case file.
"Mr. Vance," the judge began, her voice echoing through the silent courtroom. "You have been found guilty on multiple counts of corporate fraud, asset manipulation, conspiracy, and aggravated assault. The financial damage you caused affects thousands of employees and investors. Furthermore, the evidence regarding domestic violence submitted by the plaintiff is indisputable."
Kyle swallowed hard, his voice raspy when he spoke. "Your Honor... I take full responsibility. I was arrogant. I was blind. I destroyed everything through my own hubris."
"Remorse comes easily when the castle has already fallen," the judge replied coldly. "However, in light of your full cooperation with federal liquidators and the absence of prior criminal record, the court has reached a verdict."
She struck her gavel.
"I sentence Kyle Vance to twelve years in federal prison, with no possibility of parole for the first six years. All remaining assets are permanently forfeited to the court restitution fund."
The sound of the gavel felt like the final nail in a coffin. Kyle didn't protest. He simply closed his eyes as the marshals stepped up behind him, placing their hands on his shoulders to lead him away.
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As he was being escorted out, Kyle paused for a fraction of a second, looking back at me one last time. His lips formed a silent plea for forgiveness—a plea I met with a calm, unblinking stare.
Then, the doors closed behind him.
