Chapter 8 - The Weight of Justice
Three weeks later.
The Cook County Criminal Courthouse was surrounded by satellite news vans and dozens of reporters trying to catch a glimpse of the downfall of one of Chicago’s most prominent socialites.
I stood in the corridor outside Courtroom 402, wearing a sharp charcoal suit, my hands resting in my pockets. Beside me stood Marcus and Jonas.
The side door opened, and Madison Chen was led out in orange prison scrubs, her hands cuffed at her waist, her ankles chained together. Her designer hair was limp and unwashed, her makeup gone, her face pale and sunken with the reality of her new life.
When she saw me, her eyes burned with a mixture of terror and furious hatred.
"Julian!" she shrieked, pulling against the guards holding her arms. "Tell them to drop these ridiculous charges! My father lost everything! We're ruined! Is this what you do to people who love you?!"
I walked slowly toward her, stopping two feet away. The two state troopers holding her bowed their heads respectfully and stepped back, giving me space.
"You didn't love me, Madison," I said, my voice as cold and flat as a steel blade. "You loved my money, my status, and the power that came with standing beside me. And to keep it, you tried to murder a woman and an innocent child."
"She was nothing!" Madison spat, tears of rage smearing her pale face. "She was a nobody living in a trashy apartment! You belonged to me! I was supposed to be Mrs. Vance!"
"You were never going to be anything," I whispered, leaning in so close she could feel the icy heat of my words. "You thought you were playing a game of chess with me. But you forgot one thing, Madison. Elena isn't just my ex-wife. She is my soul. And when you touched her, you signed your own death warrant."
"Julian, please!" she suddenly broke, dropping to her knees on the hard terrazzo floor, her handcuffs rattling violently as she wept. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Don't let them send me to prison! I won't last a week in there!"
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"The plea deal my lawyers arranged gives you fifteen years without parole," I said, looking down at her kneeling at my feet without a shred of pity. "Consider yourself lucky. If Elena hadn't survived... you wouldn't be going to prison at all. You would have simply vanished."
I turned my back on her kneeling form, walking away down the sunlit corridor as her frantic, screaming pleas echoed off the marble walls until the heavy courtroom doors slammed shut behind her, swallowing her noise forever.
