Chapter 9 - THE VERDICTA week after the opening of the Ewan Vance Terminal, the trial of the century reached its final, decisive conclusion at the Dirksen Federal Courthouse downtown.
The courtroom was packed to absolute capacity. Every major news network in the country had cameras positioned on the courthouse steps outside.
Inside, the jury sat in silent, grim procession as the head foreperson stood up to deliver the verdicts.
At the defense table, Celeste and Richard Vandermark sat flanked by their high-priced legal team. Celeste looked gaunt, her golden hair dull, her eyes hollow and dark. Over six months of incarceration had stripped away every trace of her arrogant vanity, leaving behind a bitter, terrified woman who knew her fate was sealed.
Judge Arthur Miller looked down over his half-moon spectacles. "Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?"
"We have, Your Honor," the foreperson announced firmly.
"On the count of First-Degree Murder in the death of Ewan Vance... how do you find the defendant, Celeste Vandermark?"
"Guilty, Your Honor."
A collective gasp swept through the gallery. Celeste flinched as if she had been struck, her hand flying to her mouth.
"On the count of Attempted Murder in the attack on Delia Marie Marlowe... guilty."
"On the count of Systematic Poisoning and Aggravated Assault of Eleanor Vance... guilty."
"On forty-two counts of Federal Racketeering, Illegal Arms Trafficking, and Corporate Embezzlement... guilty on all counts."
Judge Miller nodded grimly, turning his stern gaze toward Richard Vandermark. "And on the counts of Federal Racketeering, Conspiracy, and Tax Fraud regarding Richard Vandermark... how do you find?"
"Guilty on all counts, Your Honor."
Judge Miller slammed his wooden gavel down with a sharp, echoing crash that signaled the permanent end of the Vandermark dynasty.
"Celeste Vandermark," Judge Miller declared, his voice ringing with absolute authority through the silent courtroom, "for the cold, calculated murder of Ewan Vance, the horrific attempted murder of Delia Marlowe, and the systematic poisoning of Eleanor Vance, I sentence you to two consecutive life terms in federal prison without the possibility of parole."
Celeste burst into hysterical, uncontrollable sobs, collapsing across the defense table as federal marshals moved in to attach heavy leg irons to her ankles.
"Richard Vandermark," the judge continued, "for your role in orchestrating a decade of international crime and corruption, I sentence you to thirty-five years at the ADX Florence Federal Penitentiary."
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As the officers dragged Celeste away, her thrashes useless against the steel cuffs, she caught a glimpse of me sitting in the front row of the gallery. I was holding Delia's hand, my mother sitting proudly beside us.
Celeste screamed my name one last time—a pathetic, desperate cry that was cut short as the heavy steel doors of the holding cell slammed shut behind her, locking her away in the dark forever.
