Chapter 10 - The Federal Indictment
Three months passed.
The wheels of federal justice turn slowly, but when they are greased with unshakeable 4K video evidence and twenty-two gigabytes of decrypted forensic accounting ledgers, they crush everything in their path.
On a crisp October morning, the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York unsealed a forty-eight-count superseding indictment against Flynn Vance, Gregory Vance, and Eleanor Vance.
I sat in the second row of the gallery, supported by a sleek carbon-fiber cane. My cast had been removed three weeks earlier, replaced by a supportive brace. Beside me sat Phoebe and Arthur Sterling.
Across the courtroom, sitting at the defense table in matching bright-orange prison jumpsuits and heavy leg shackles, were the three Vances.
Flynn had lost twenty pounds in county lockup. His bespoke suits were gone, replaced by baggy, faded twill. His hair was greasy and unkempt, his eyes sunken, darting nervously between the judge and the prosecutor.
Eleanor sat beside him, looking like a ghost of her former self. Without her daily salon appointments, designer cosmetics, and emerald necklaces, she looked like an ordinary, bitter, aging woman whose illusions of grandeur had been stripped away.
Greg sat with his head down, sporting a jagged scar across his eyebrow from a prison altercation during his second week in general population.
Judge Sarah Vance (no relation) adjusted her glasses and looked down from the bench with stern, unforgiving eyes.
"We are here today for the formal entry of change-of-plea agreements," the judge announced.
Flynn’s high-priced court-appointed public defender stood up. "Your Honor, my client, Flynn Vance, wishes to withdraw his previous plea of not guilty and enter a plea of guilty to Counts One, Four, Twelve, and Twenty-Eight: namely, Conspiracy to Commit Wire Fraud, Federal Money Laundering, Aggravated Assault Resulting in Serious Bodily Injury in Aid of Extortion, and Witness Tampering."
A collective murmur echoed through the gallery.
"Mr. Flynn Vance," Judge Vance addressed my ex-husband directly. "Do you understand that by pleading guilty to these charges, you are waving your right to a jury trial?"
Flynn swallowed hard, his voice trembling so much he could barely lean into the microphone. "Yes, Your Honor."
"Do you admit that on Friday, June twelfth, you knowingly and willfully conspired with Gregory Vance and Eleanor Vance to physically assault Mabel Vance with the intent to unlawfully extort her corporate shares and conceal the embezzlement of three point eight million dollars?"
Flynn closed his eyes. Two tears leaked down his hollow cheeks. He turned his head slightly, catching my eye in the gallery. I met his gaze with unyielding, frozen composure.
"I admit it, Your Honor," he choked out.
"And do you understand," Judge Vance continued, "that the mandatory minimum sentence under federal sentencing guidelines for these combined counts is eighteen years in a federal penitentiary without the possibility of parole, alongside a mandatory restitution order of twenty-four million dollars?"
Flynn’s knees buckled. His attorney had to physically hold him upright by the arm.
"I... I understand," Flynn whispered.
Next came Greg. Facing twenty-two years for aggravated felony assault and battery, he broke down completely, sobbing into his shackled hands as he pleaded guilty to all counts.
Eleanor Vance pleaded guilty to conspiracy to commit wire fraud and federal extortion. Due to her age and medical history, her plea deal sentenced her to eight years at the Federal Correctional Institution in Danbury, Connecticut, followed by total asset forfeiture.
Judge Vance slammed her gavel down with a resounding, thunderous strike.
"Sentencing is set for November fifteenth. The defendants are remanded to custody without bail. Court is adjourned."
As the federal marshals pulled Flynn toward the side holding cell, he fought against the chains, screaming across the courtroom:
"Mabel! Please! Forgive me! Mabel, tell them I’m sorry! Mabel!"
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I didn't blink. I didn't say a word.
I simply stood up, gripped my carbon-fiber cane, turned my back on him, and walked out of the courtroom into the brilliant autumn sunshine.
