Chapter 6 - Blood Debt at the Courthouse
The following Monday, the federal courthouse in lower Manhattan was swarming with hundreds of onlookers and media outlets. Daniel Sterling and Vanessa Caldwell were brought in through the underground tunnel for their joint arraignment.
Daniel looked unrecognizable. Dressed in standard orange prison garb, his hands and feet chained together with heavy steel links, he walked with a hunched, defeated shuffle. His once-coiffed hair was greasy and wild, his eyes hollow with terror. When the guards led Vanessa into the adjacent holding cage, Daniel’s head snapped up, his jaw clenching with violent rage.
"You bitch!" Daniel lunged against his chains, rattling the iron bars. "You told the feds I embezzled the foreign accounts! You told them the whip was my idea! You set me up!"
Vanessa, stripped of her extensions, designer makeup, and luxury jewelry, snarled back like a cornered animal. "You pathetic coward! You swore she was nobody! You told me she had no family! If I knew she was a Vance, I would have thrown you off a bridge myself! You ruined my life, Daniel! You're nothing without her!"
"Quiet in the holding area!" a federal marshal barked, slamming his baton against the bars.
Ten minutes later, they were escorted into the courtroom.
I was already seated in the front row of the gallery, flanked by my father and an elite team of eight former federal prosecutors now working for Vance Global. I wore a charcoal bespoke dress, elegant, unyielding, and calm.
When Daniel saw me, his eyes widened with frantic desperation. As he shuffled toward the defense table, he tried to lean toward my bench.
"Elena! Look at me, please!" he choked out, hot tears spilling down his hollow cheeks. "I was sick! Vanessa poisoned my mind! She gave me pills, she manipulated me! Elena, remember our vows! For better or for worse! Please, tell them to dismiss the charges! I love you! I’ve always loved you!"
I did not flinch. I did not blink. I met his pleading gaze with absolute, unfeeling indifference, looking through him as if he were made of cheap glass.
The presiding judge, Honorable Judge Harrison, took his seat and slammed his gavel.
"In the matter of the People versus Daniel Sterling and Vanessa Caldwell. Charges include felony aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, conspiracy to commit murder, corporate racketeering, and thirty-four counts of grand larceny."
The prosecutor rose immediately. "Your Honor, the prosecution requests that bail be denied entirely for both defendants. Mr. Sterling poses an extreme danger to the victim, as evidenced by forensic reports of severe domestic torture, and both defendants present an undeniable flight risk with overseas illicit holdings."
Daniel’s defense lawyer, an overworked public defender assigned after all private attorneys dropped his case due to frozen assets, tried to object. "Your Honor, my client has deep roots in the community—"
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"Overruled," Judge Harrison cut in sharply, looking down at Daniel with visible disgust. "The photographic and medical evidence presented to this court is abhorrent. Bail is denied. Defendants will remain remanded in maximum custody until trial."
As the gavel slammed down, Daniel let out a wail of utter despair, collapsing into his chair. As the marshals hauled him away, he twisted his head back toward me, screaming my name until the heavy soundproof doors cut him off forever.
