Chapter 10
The federal courthouse in Foley Square was a cavernous temple of stone and echoing footsteps. The morning light filtered through immense arched windows, casting stark geometric shadows across the polished marble floor of the gallery. Valeria walked through the security checkpoint flanked by her father and Marcus Vance, her midnight-blue pantsuit immaculate, her posture radiating an untouchable, quiet strength.
Camera shutters clicked frantically behind the brass stanchions as reporters caught sight of Arthur Sterling and his daughter entering the public seating area. Valeria ignored the flashing lights, keeping her eyes fixed forward as she took a seat in the very front row, directly behind the prosecution table.
Moments later, the side doors opened, and federal marshals led the defendants into the courtroom.
Robert Vance, disheveled and stripped of his corporate arrogance, shuffled in wearing an orange jumpsuit, his head bowed. Right behind him was Julian Davis. Julian looked hollowed out, his eyes sunken, his posture slumped in utter defeat. As he took his seat at the defense table, his gaze swept across the courtroom and locked instantly onto Valeria.
For a fraction of a second, Julian’s eyes flickered with desperate pleading. He parted his lips as if to speak, but the federal marshal standing behind him nudged him firmly down into his chair.
Valeria didn't blink. She met his pathetic gaze with absolute, chilling indifference. The woman he had tried to frame, manipulate, and discard was now sitting in judgment of his total ruin.
The heavy oak side door opened again, and Clara walked in escorted by a female marshal. She looked remarkably pale, her long dark hair unstyled, wearing a standard civilian detainee jumpsuit. Her eyes scanned the room in a blind panic until she spotted Valeria in the front row. Clara froze, her lips parting in horror as she realized that the woman she had mocked in the upscale restaurant just days ago was now the central pillar of this courtroom's moral gravity.
"All rise for the Honorable Judge Evelyn Vance," the bailiff's booming voice echoed through the high-ceilinged room.
Everyone stood. Judge Evelyn Vance, a formidable woman with sharp silver hair and an unyielding expression, strode to the bench and settled her robes.
"Be seated," the judge commanded, her voice cutting cleanly through the silence. "We are here for the arraignment in the matter of United States versus Robert Vance and Julian Davis, with related filings concerning Clara Sterling."
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The prosecutor stepped forward, opening a thick leather binder.
"Your Honor, the government presents a consolidated indictment charging the defendants with wire fraud, interstate conspiracy, money laundering, and malicious fabrication of corporate evidence intended to subvert federal oversight."
