Chapter 10 - The First Gavel
The preliminary hearing was held on a Tuesday morning.
The courtroom was packed with reporters and curious onlookers.
Constance Keene sat at the defense table,
looking older and smaller than I had ever seen her.
She wasn't wearing her pearls.
She was wearing a drab,
gray suit that seemed to drain the color from her face.
Derek was nowhere to be found.
He had sent his confession to our lawyers at 4:55 PM the previous day.
He had chosen himself over his mother,
just as he had always chosen himself over me.
I sat in the front row,
my mother on one side and my lawyer on the other.
I felt a strange sense of calm.
The physical pain in my body had finally begun to fade,
replaced by a growing strength.
When the prosecutor stood up to present the evidence,
he held up a familiar object.
The gray folder.
“Your Honor,”
he began,
“the state will show that the defendant,
Constance Keene,
engaged in a systematic pattern of fraud,
using her own daughter-in-law as an unwitting accomplice.”
Constance let out a soft moan,
her head dropping into her hands.
As the details of the shell companies and the stolen funds were read aloud,
a murmur went through the room.
The "pillar of the community" was being exposed as a common thief.
But the real shock came when the prosecutor mentioned the Cayman accounts.
“We have also received a sworn statement from Derek Keene,”
the prosecutor continued,
“outlining the involvement of the defense’s lead counsel,
Mr. Sterling,
in the concealment of these funds.”
The room exploded into chaos.
Mr. Sterling stood up,
protesting loudly,
but the judge silenced him with a sharp rap of the gavel.
I looked at Constance.
She was staring at me,
her eyes full of a venomous hatred.
I didn't blink.
I didn't look away.
I wanted her to see exactly who had defeated her.
I wanted her to know that the "servant" had finally cleared the table.
The hearing lasted for three hours.
By the end,
Constance was ordered to be held without bail pending trial.
Mr. Sterling was being investigated by the bar association.
And Derek was effectively a fugitive,
having fled the state as soon as he signed the confession.
As we walked out of the courthouse,
the sun was blindingly bright.
Reporters swarmed us,
shoving microphones into our faces.
“Mallory!”
“How do you feel?”
“Did you know what they were doing?”
“What about your husband?”
I stopped at the top of the stairs,
looking out over the city.
“I have no comment on the Keenes,”
I said,
my voice carrying over the crowd.
“I’m just going home to my daughter.”
My mother took my arm,
guiding me toward the car.
“It’s over,
Mal,”
she said.
“No,”
I replied,
looking at the horizon.
“The legal part is over.”
“But the recovery?”
“That’s just beginning.”
“And I still have one more page in the folder to deal with.”
My mother looked at me,
surprised.
“There’s a page I didn't show you,”
I said.
“A page Derek forgot he’d scanned into the digital drive.”
“It’s the list of people who actually funded the boutique.”
“And my mother-in-law wasn't the only one on it.”
May you like
“The drama isn't over,
Mom.”
