Chapter 10 - The Verdict
The jury deliberated for precisely forty-five minutes.
When the heavy oak doors of the courtroom opened at 3:30 PM, the atmosphere in the room was so dense you could hear a pin drop against the terrazzo floor.
Judge Robert Thomas took his seat on the bench, putting on his reading glasses.
“Will the defendant please rise?” the bailiff commanded.
Darren stood up slowly, his legs trembling so visibly his attorney had to hold his elbow to keep him upright.
“Mr. Foreman,” Judge Thomas said. “Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”
“We have, Your Honor,” the foreman, an older man in a navy sweater, replied, holding a white paper folder.
“On count one, grand larceny in the first degree, how do you find?”
“Guilty,” the foreman announced.
“On count two, felony elder exploitation?”
“Guilty.”
“On count three, identity fraud?”
“Guilty.”
“On count four, corporate forgery?”
“Guilty.”
Darren’s knees gave out completely. He collapsed into his chair, burying his face in his hands as a dry, breathless sob tore from his chest.
Judge Thomas looked over his glasses at Darren with an expression of profound, unyielding disgust.
“Mr. Vance,” Judge Thomas said, his voice echoing off the high stone walls. “In my thirty years on the bench, I have rarely witnessed a display of human depravity as calculated, cruel, and shameless as the crimes you committed against your own mother.”
The judge adjusted his papers.
“The law provides for a maximum sentence of fifteen years for these offenses combined. Given the severity of the emotional and physical harm inflicted upon a vulnerable senior citizen, I see no reason for leniency.”
The judge brought his heavy wooden gavel down with a sharp, resounding crack.
“I sentence you to twelve to fifteen years at the MCI-Cedar Junction state correctional facility, without eligibility for parole for the first eight years. Restitution in the amount of one million, nine hundred thousand dollars is ordered in full.”
Two corrections officers stepped forward, pulling Darren to his feet, snapping heavy iron chains around his waist and ankles.
As he was led toward the side exit, Darren turned his head, his tear-streaks making tracks through the dust on his face, looking at me with a desperate, pathetic whimper.
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“Claire... please... help me...”
I didn't answer. I simply stood up, buttoned my jacket, and walked out of the courtroom into the bright winter sunlight.
