Chapter 8 - The Fall
The criminal justice system moves slowly for the rich, but Julian was no longer rich.
Without access to the Sterling trust fund to hire a team of high-powered defense attorneys, Julian was assigned a vastly overworked public defender. The video of the assault was undeniable. The district attorney, eager for a high-profile win, refused any plea deals that didn't include jail time.
Two months after the gala, I sat in the courtroom gallery, surrounded by my father's security.
Julian was led in wearing a standard-issue orange jumpsuit. He looked gaunt. His hair was unkempt, the arrogant swagger completely beaten out of him by sixty days in county lockup. He looked at me, his eyes pleading, desperate for a shred of the mercy I used to give him so freely.
I gave him nothing. My face was a mask of stone.
The judge banged his gavel. "Julian Sterling, given the irrefutable video evidence, your lack of remorse at the time of the incident, and the severe physical and emotional distress caused to the victim, I sentence you to three years in state prison for aggravated domestic battery."
Julian’s knees buckled. A bailiff had to hold him up.
"Clara!" he screamed as they dragged him toward the holding doors. "Clara, please! I love you! Please!"
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I didn't blink. I watched the heavy oak doors close behind him, severing him from my life forever.
Later that afternoon, the news broke that Victor Sterling had suffered a minor heart attack. The stress of the SEC investigation, the complete liquidation of his assets, and his son’s imprisonment had finally broken him. He survived, but he was facing his own federal indictment for corporate fraud. The mighty patriarch was reduced to an ankle monitor and a subsidized apartment on the outskirts of the city.
