Chapter 8 - THE SHADOWS OF THE PAST
The trial of Victoria Vance and her co-conspirator—identified by federal authorities as Marcus “D” Delgado, a notorious underground broker of biological contraband—was scheduled to begin in the federal district court of Manhattan by late autumn.
The media circus surrounding the case was unprecedented. Headlines screamed across every major newspaper and financial journal: THE BILLIONAIRE’S BETRAYAL: HOW A SOCIALITE TURNED A MANSION INTO A CHAMBER OF HORRORS. Photographers staked out the front gates of our estate day and night, hoping for a glimpse of Leo or me, forcing me to increase private security threefold and relocate our daily routines to secure, private facilities.
Yet, inside the walls of the mansion, peace had finally taken root.
Leo was sleeping through the night without a single scream, without a single nightmare. His appetite had returned, his color was healthy, and the angry red marks across his neck and ears had completely faded away, leaving smooth, unblemished skin.
One evening, as twilight painted the Manhattan skyline in shades of deep purple and burnt orange, I walked into Leo’s bedroom to check on him before heading down to my study for late-night international calls.
He was tucked under a heavy, soft cotton comforter—no silk anywhere in sight—clutching his stuffed T-Rex. Clara sat quietly in the rocking chair by the window, knitting a gray wool scarf under the warm glow of a bedside lamp.
I walked over, kissed the top of Leo’s head, and whispered, “Good night, buddy.”
“Night, Daddy,” he murmured sleepily, barely opening his eyes before drifting back into peaceful slumber.
I stepped out into the hallway, motioning for Clara to follow me out for a brief word. We walked toward the private balcony overlooking the grand foyer.
“The federal prosecutor called me an hour ago, Clara,” I said quietly, leaning against the polished iron railing. “Victoria’s defense team is trying to cut a plea deal. They’re claiming diminished capacity, arguing that Delgado manipulated her into the scheme.”
Clara let out a short, dry laugh, shaking her head. “Typical. People like Miss Vance never want to face the consequence of their own greed. They always look for someone else to blame when the empire of cards collapses.”
“They won’t get a plea deal,” I stated, my voice cold and absolute. “I’ve instructed my legal team to supply the prosecution with every single wire transfer, every encrypted message, and every financial record we recovered. She will serve maximum time in a maximum-security facility. No exceptions, no leniency.”
May you like
Clara placed a comforting hand on my forearm. “Good. Justice isn't just about punishment, Mr. Vance. It’s about ensuring that the innocent are finally safe.”
---
