Chapter 7 - The Ashes of the Empire
Six months later, the trial of the decade concluded.
I sat in the front row of the gallery, wearing a tailored navy suit. I was no longer strapped into my electric wheelchair. Thanks to intense, grueling physical rehabilitation funded by my newly unlocked fortune, I was sitting in a standard medical chair. My right side was strong. My left side was slowly waking up.
I didn't have a feeding tube anymore.
Graham stood at the defense table in an orange jumpsuit. The tailored Tom Ford suits were gone. He looked ten years older, his hair thinning, his shoulders slumped.
The judge’s gavel banged loudly.
"Graham Whitaker, on the charges of criminal negligence, fraud, and attempted murder... I sentence you to twenty-five years in a federal penitentiary, without the possibility of parole."
Graham closed his eyes. He didn't even look back at me. He had nothing left to say.
The Ardell family didn't fare any better. Richard was facing thirty years. Savannah, who claimed she knew nothing, was left absolutely destitute, forced to work at a department store just to pay off the legal fees her family had accrued.
And Victoria?
Victoria struck a plea deal for her assault on me, avoiding jail time but earning 500 hours of community service.
As I was wheeled out of the courthouse by Marcus, we passed Victoria on the steps. She was wearing a cheap, stained yellow vest, picking up trash along the sidewalk with a metal grabber.
She looked up, her face dirty and exhausted, her former arrogance replaced by hollow defeat.
She saw me.
I signaled Marcus to stop. I slowly, deliberately raised my right hand.
May you like
I gave her a small, mocking wave.
Victoria looked down at the garbage in her hands, her face crumbling into tears, as Marcus pushed me to my waiting limousine.
