Chapter 13 - What the Law Did With Them
The criminal cases took more than a year to resolve.
Victoria pleaded guilty first.
Her cooperation reduced her sentence, but it did not erase responsibility. She had knowingly restrained me, towed me into open water, ignored my pregnancy, and continued after I begged her to stop.
The judge called her conduct “deliberate cruelty made worse by vanity and misplaced loyalty.”
She received prison time followed by supervised release.
Julian fought longer.
Federal prosecutors added financial-fraud, customs, conspiracy, and obstruction charges to the state attempted-murder case. His attorneys challenged intent, attacked Victoria’s credibility, and tried to separate corporate wrongdoing from the marina incident.
The draft death statement hurt him.
The sedative hurt him.
The straps hurt him.
The accident contingency document nearly finished him.
Eventually, Julian accepted a plea agreement that guaranteed decades in prison.
Not life.
Not execution.
Something more ordinary and, to me, more fitting.
Time.
Long enough to understand that every morning would arrive without a company, without an audience, without women carrying his secrets for him.
Nathan Hayes faced separate charges over Blue Arc.
Two Vance Meridian managers cooperated and avoided prison.
Others did not.
Federal customs authorities recovered millions in penalties and restitution through the restructuring process.
The company survived at roughly sixty percent of its former size.
Hundreds kept their jobs.
Some didn’t.
I never pretended the ending was painless for them.
Northstar wrote off a painful portion of its investment.
My mother called that “the tuition fee for believing governance paperwork was enough.”
I called it expensive.
My divorce from Julian was much simpler than the criminal case.
We had a prenuptial agreement.
My family assets stayed mine.
His remaining personal assets were heavily encumbered by legal judgments and restitution claims.
I sought no dramatic additional settlement.
I wanted separation.
Not conquest.
The judge signed the final decree on a Tuesday morning.
I walked outside holding Eleanor’s stroller with one hand and my mother’s arm with the other.
A reporter shouted, “Mrs. Vance, do you feel vindicated?”
I stopped.
Then corrected him.
“Sterling.”
He blinked.
“My name is Genevieve Sterling.”
May you like
That was all I said.
It was enough.
