Chapter 6 - The Trial & Ruin
The courtroom was vast, lined with polished wood and echoing with the finality of justice. I sat at the plaintiff's table, dressed in a sleek charcoal grey suit, my hands calmly folded in front of me.
Across the aisle, Richard sat with his court-appointed attorney. He looked hollowed out. The stress of the last few months had aged him a decade. His hair was thinning, his posture was slumped, and his eyes darted around the room like a cornered rat. Sitting in the gallery behind him was Vivian, wiping away endless streams of tears with a damp tissue. She had aged terribly, too, burdened by the realization that her golden son was a criminal and that she was now responsible for raising a crying infant alone on a meager social security check.
The judge, a stern woman with zero tolerance for white-collar crime, adjusted her glasses and read the verdict.
"Richard Whitman, you have been found guilty of grand larceny, corporate embezzlement, and fraud. Your actions show a complete disregard for fiduciary duty and a malicious intent to defraud your own family and business partners."
Richard closed his eyes tightly, a single tear slipping out.
"I sentence you to eight years in state prison, with no possibility of parole for the first five. You are also ordered to pay full restitution to Whitman-Hayes Innovations."
The gavel banged. It was the loudest, most satisfying sound I had ever heard.
Simultaneously, the family court judge had finalized our divorce. Thanks to the iron-clad prenup, the embezzlement evidence, and the child abuse footage, I was granted sole legal and physical custody of Ethan. Richard was stripped of all parental rights, and a permanent restraining order was placed against him and his mother.
As the bailiffs approached Richard with handcuffs, Vivian wailed from the gallery. "Richard! My baby! Amanda, please! Have mercy! We have nothing!"
I stood up, picked up my briefcase, and walked slowly toward the exit. I paused just as I passed Vivian’s row. I looked down at the woman who had tormented my son, remembering the exact coldness in her voice when she told him to crawl.
May you like
"You reap what you sow, Vivian," I said quietly, my voice devoid of emotion. "You made your bed in my house. Now you can sleep on the street."
I turned my back on them and walked out of the double doors into the bright sunlight of the courthouse steps. For the first time in years, the air smelled incredibly sweet.
