Chapter 8 - The Price of TreasonTwo weeks later, the federal court was packed to capacity for the preliminary hearing of Adrian Vale.
The defense had tried to argue for bail, but with the overwhelming evidence of flight risk—including the private jet and the offshore shell accounts—the judge denied the request. Adrian was forced to remain in federal custody, wearing a plain orange jumpsuit, his hands and feet chained.
He looked hollow. His polished, handsome face was thin, his eyes bloodshot, his hair uncombed. The arrogance that had once defined him had completely vanished.
I sat in the front row of the gallery, next to Evelyn. I wore a simple white blazer, my face calm and resolved, looking directly at the man who had once tried to destroy me.
During the recess, Adrian’s new, public-appointed defense attorney approached us. "Mrs. Vale, my client is willing to plead guilty to all counts of fraud and money laundering in exchange for a recommended sentence of eight years. He wants to avoid a public trial."
"Eight years?" I asked, looking at the lawyer.
"It is a standard plea deal for a first-time corporate offender," the lawyer replied.
"He isn't a first-time corporate offender," I said, my voice cold and clear. "He systematically abused his position, embezzled millions, forged my father's name, and physically assaulted me to keep his secrets. Tell your client that we are not negotiating. We will see him at trial, and we will ask for the maximum sentence."
The lawyer sighed, nodding slowly. "I understand. I’ll relay the message."
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As they led Adrian back to his cell, he looked at me through the wire mesh of the holding area. His lips moved, whispering my name, his eyes filled with a desperate, pathetic plea for mercy.
I looked away. The time for mercy had ended on the marble floor of my father's house.
