Chapter 10 - Justice In Session
The Federal Criminal Court of the Southern District was a grey, imposing block of concrete and bulletproof glass located near the state penitentiary. On Monday morning, the courtroom was packed to capacity, not with the high-society friends Maris had spent her life cultivating, but with reporters from the financial journals and television crews who had realized that the Williams family scandal was the biggest trial of the year.
Maris sat at the defense table, her hair unwashed, her face pale and lined with deep wrinkles that her old makeup could no longer hide. She was dressed in a simple navy-blue institutional smock, her hands cuffed to the steel ring in the center of the wooden table.
Victor sat in the front row of the gallery, holding Catherine’s hand. She was wearing a simple, elegant dark green dress, her face full and healthy after two weeks of intensive hospital care, her eyes clear and calm as she watched the bench. Annie sat between them, her small fingers busy braiding a piece of blue yarn Brian had given her to keep her occupied.
The judge, a stern-faced woman named Alicia Morales, looked down over her glasses at the thick stack of financial ledgers and medical forensics reports.
"The evidence presented by the federal prosecutor's office is overwhelming and uncontested," Judge Morales said, her voice echoing through the silent courtroom. "The defendant, Maris Williams, utilized corporate infrastructure, faked legal signatures, and physical intimidation to isolate a vulnerable dependent and convert over one point eight million dollars of child support funds for illegal asset preservation."
She looked directly at Maris, her expression filled with a cold, judicial disdain.
"This court finds no mitigating circumstances in your age or your social standing, Mrs. Williams," the judge continued. "In fact, your position of privilege makes the calculated cruelty of your actions even more egregious. Your granddaughter was found scavenging for basic nutrition while you utilized her support funds to secure luxury services and cover illegal gambling debts."
The judge raised her wooden gavel.
"Under the provisions of the Federal Penal Code for aggravated domestic fraud, identity theft, and money laundering, I sentence you to twelve years and six months at the Center for Feminine Social Reintegration in San José el Alto, without the possibility of early release or home confinement. All remaining civil assets held under your personal registration are hereby transferred to the medical trust for Catherine Williams and Annie Williams as an initial civil indemnity."
The gavel came down with a sharp, final crack that signaled the end of the Williams matriarchy.
Maris didn't scream. She didn't look at Victor or Catherine as the two female guards stepped forward to unlock her from the table and guide her through the heavy iron door behind the bench. She walked with her head down, her slippers dragging on the linoleum, her shoulders hunched as the shadow of the prison corridor swallowed her completely.
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Victor turned to his wife, pulling her into his arms, pressing his face into her clean, sweet-smelling hair. Catherine held him tightly, her small sobs of relief muted against his shoulder, while Annie threw her arms around both of their waists, her small face bright with the knowledge that the rooms with the leaking ceilings were gone forever.
"We're free, Victor," Catherine whispered into his ear. "We're finally home."
