Chapter 4 - The House of Cards
The following morning was cold and bright. The news reports were a symphony of carnage for the Sterling family.
Richard Sterling’s assets seized. Sterling Logistics under investigation for human trafficking and corporate espionage. Richard Sterling issued a warrant for assault.
I stood in my kitchen, eating a piece of toast while watching the news. Lily was finally awake, sitting at the table, her eyes red-rimmed but clear. She was watching the screen, her hand resting on her arm, where a faint bruise was still visible.
"It's true, isn't it?" she asked softly. "He's really finished."
"He is," I said. "He’ll be arrested within the hour. The authorities know where he is—he tried to flee to his private hangar at the airport, but we leaked his flight plan. He's surrounded."
Just then, the phone rang. It wasn't the burner. It was my landline.
"Arthur Vance?" A voice asked. It sounded like an official. "This is the District Attorney. We have Mr. Sterling in custody. We need you and your daughter to come down for a formal statement."
"I'll be there," I said.
The drive to the courthouse was a victory lap. Every billboard, every storefront, every digital screen was plastered with Richard’s face, branded as a criminal. When we pulled into the parking lot, a mob of reporters surged toward us. I blocked them with my body, shielding Lily, pushing through the wall of cameras until we were inside the heavy, stone doors of the building.
The courtroom was packed. Richard was sitting at the defense table, his suit disheveled, his face gray. When he saw me, his eyes burned with a hatred so pure it was almost impressive.
"You," he hissed. "You're nobody."
I didn't answer him. I walked past him, holding Lily’s hand, and sat down in the gallery.
May you like
The trial was short. There was no need for a long, drawn-out affair. The evidence I’d provided—the recording, the forensic trail of his finances, the testimony of his own muscle—was insurmountable.
When the judge hammered the gavel, sealing his sentence of twenty-five years to life, Richard didn't shout. He didn't scream. He just stared at the floor, the realization finally sinking in that his money had bought him everything but a way out of his own ego.
