Chapter 9 - The Trial of Victoria
Six months later.
The federal courtroom in downtown Chicago was silent as a tomb.
Victoria DeLuca sat at the defense table wearing a dark gray wool suit, her silver hair pulled back into a tight bun, her expression rigid and stone-cold.
Beside her sat three high-priced defense attorneys who had spent the last four weeks trying to dismantle the prosecution's ironclad case.
Across the room, sitting in the front row of the gallery, was Roman DeLuca. He was wearing a dark suit, his arm wrapped securely around Evelyn, who sat beside him holding seven-month-old Clara Rose DeLuca in her arms.
The baby was sleeping peacefully, wrapped in a soft white wool blanket, her tiny hand curled over Evelyn’s collarbone.
The judge, a formidable woman named Honorable Brenda Vance, tapped her gavel twice.
"In the matter of the People of Illinois versus Victoria DeLuca," Judge Vance read from the blue folder on her bench, "on the charges of conspiracy to commit medical battery, unauthorized distribution of controlled substances, wire fraud, and falsification of medical records..."
Victoria stood up slowly, her hands resting on the defense table, her chin raised high as if she were still sitting in her corner office on the forty-second floor.
"How does the court find?" Judge Vance asked.
"On all counts," the jury foreman, a quiet middle-aged man from Evanston, declared, "we find the defendant, Victoria DeLuca, guilty."
A quiet, collective murmur rippled through the gallery.
Victoria didn't flinch. She didn't cry. But her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, the final illusion of her untouchable status evaporating into the cold air of the courtroom.
"The defendant is sentenced to eight years at the Logan Correctional Center," Judge Vance ruled firmly, striking her gavel with a loud, definitive BANG. "Bail is revoked immediately. Remand the prisoner into custody."
Two armed federal marshals stepped up behind Victoria, placing two steel handcuffs around her wrists.
As she was led toward the side door of the courtroom, Victoria stopped for a brief second.
She turned her head to look at the gallery.
Her eyes moved past the journalists, past the lawyers, past her son, and landed on the tiny white wool blanket resting against Evelyn’s chest.
For the first time in seven years, Victoria saw the face of her granddaughter—a beautiful baby girl with dark hair, dark eyelashes, and clear gray eyes that belonged entirely to Roman.
Victoria opened her mouth, her pale lips trembling as if she wanted to say something—a plea, an apology, or a claim to the bloodline she had tried so ruthlessly to control.
May you like
Evelyn didn't look away. She didn't smile in triumph. She simply raised her head, looking at Victoria with calm, unbothered dignity, and gently pulled the soft white wool blanket higher, covering Clara’s face from her grandmother’s view.
The door clicked shut, and Victoria DeLuca disappeared into the dark hallway of the courthouse forever.
