Chapter 9 - THE VERDICT
Three months later, the federal courthouse in Manhattan was crowded with reporters and flashing cameras.
The trial of Eleanor Morgan and Julian Vance had been the biggest story in the country for weeks—a shocking exposé of old money, murder, and systemic corruption that reached the highest levels of city government.
I sat on the wooden bench in the front row of the gallery, my hand clasped tightly in Mark’s.
Beside me sat Caroline.
Her face was pale, but the manic, fearful look was gone, replaced by a quiet, somber peace. She had pleaded guilty to her involvement in Julian Sr.’s death, receiving a reduced sentence of five years in exchange for her full testimony against our mother.
She was pregnant, her hands resting gently on her stomach.
"Are you ready?" Mark whispered to me.
"Yes," I said, looking toward the defense table.
Eleanor Morgan sat between her high-priced attorneys, her face still wearing the same cold, elegant mask she had worn her entire life. She hadn't looked at me once during the entire trial. She didn't look at Caroline.
The judge—a stern, grey-haired woman—hammered her gavel, silencing the room.
"Will the defendant please stand," the judge said.
Eleanor stood, smoothing her dark grey wool suit, her posture perfect.
"On the charges of federal conspiracy, embezzlement, bribery, and the accessory to first-degree murder," the judge read, her voice echoing in the silent courtroom. "This court finds you guilty on all counts."
A collective gasp ran through the gallery.
"You are sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole, to be served at the federal correctional facility in Danbury."
The gavel came down with a heavy, final thud.
Eleanor didn't flinch. She simply turned her head, her cold blue eyes finally landing on me.
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She didn't speak. She didn't offer a plea or a look of regret.
She simply turned and walked out of the courtroom, flanked by two federal marshals, her heels clicking sharply against the polished wood floor one last time.
