Chapter 7 - The Federal Hearing
Two weeks later.
The United States District Court in downtown Phoenix was silent except for the rhythmic clicking of the court reporter's stenograph machine.
Courtroom 6A was packed with journalists, corporate attorneys, and federal observers. The Lindqvist-Vance scandal had dominated the local news for fourteen days straight—the fall of a prominent Assistant County Attorney, the liquidation of a major financial advisory firm, and the exposure of a five-year offshore money laundering operation.
Sitting at the defense table were Chad Vance, Arthur Vance, and Evelyn Vance.
Chad wore an orange jumpsuit provided by the federal detention center. His golden hair was unwashed, hanging limp across his forehead. His skin was sallow, dark bags hanging under his eyes. He didn't look at the gallery once.
Beside him, Evelyn sat in a matching orange smock, her hands handcuffed to a heavy leather waist belt. Her styled hair was gone, replaced by a graying, tangled bob. She stared fixedly at the floorboards between her feet.
Arthur Vance sat with his defense attorney, his face pale and sweating under the harsh fluorescent lights.
I sat in the front row of the gallery, wearing a charcoal wool suit, holding Toby's small blue drawing pad in my lap. Toby was at the Paradise Valley estate with Maria, playing in the garden.
Beside me sat Christopher Lindqvist, his cane resting between his knees, his face as unreadable as an ancient coin.
Judge Margaret Chen cleared her throat, adjusting her reading glasses as she looked down from the bench at the defense table.
"In the matter of the United States versus Chadwick Vance, Arthur Vance, and Evelyn Vance," Judge Chen read, her voice resonant through the clear acoustics of the hall. "This court has reviewed the joint plea agreements submitted by the Office of the Special Prosecutor."
She looked directly at Chad.
"Chadwick Vance," Judge Chen said. "On counts one through twenty-four—wire fraud and aggravated identity theft—you are sentenced to twenty-eight years in the federal penitentiary at Florence, Colorado. On counts twenty-five through forty-two—conspiracy to commit money laundering—you are sentenced to an additional twelve years, to run consecutively. Total term of imprisonment: forty years. No possibility of parole."
Chad’s head dropped onto the defense table with a dull thud. A low, pathetic whimpering sound escaped his throat, but no one in the courtroom moved to comfort him.
"Arthur Vance," Judge Chen continued, turning her eyes to the former prosecutor. "For public corruption, obstruction of justice, and official misconduct, you are sentenced to thirty-two years at the Federal Correctional Institution in Safford."
Finally, she looked at my mother.
"Evelyn Vance," Judge Chen said, her tone cold and devoid of pity. "For masterminding the fraudulent power of attorney and participating in the offshore concealment of stolen funds, you are sentenced to twenty-two years at the Federal Medical Center in Carswell, Texas."
Judge Chen struck her gavel. "Remanded into immediate custody."
The U.S. Marshals stepped forward, grabbing the chains attached to the prisoners' waist belts and pulling them to their feet.
As Chad was led past the gallery rail toward the side holding door, his eyes caught mine for a fraction of a second.
His lips moved, forming two silent words: I'm sorry.
I didn't answer. I didn't nod. I simply looked at him—not with hatred, not with anger, but with the cold, absolute indifference of a person who had finally left a dead life behind.
Evelyn was led past next. She stopped for half a second, her hollow gray eyes locking onto mine.
"Genevieve..." she rasped, her voice dry and cracked from two weeks in a county holding cell. "Genevieve... I'm your mother..."
I looked her in the eyes, my voice steady and quiet enough that only she could hear:
"My mother died thirty years ago when you accepted that first check, Evelyn."
May you like
She flinched as if I had struck her across the face. The marshal pulled her chain, leading her through the heavy steel door into the dark hallway behind the bench.
The door closed with a loud, mechanical CLANG.
