Chapter 18 - The Day in Court
On March tenth, Grant Voss received his final sentence.
The Portage County Courthouse was packed. Word had spread through Ravenna that the boy who had tried to burn down the town’s oldest repair shop was getting his reckoning, and the local business community showed up in force. Mayor Bradley, Chief Miller, the hardware store owners, and three of Arden’s fellow high school teachers filled the spectators' gallery.
Grant stood at the defense table in a clean orange jumpsuit, his hands cuffed in front of him. His shaggy hair had been cut short by the jail barber, and his face was gaunt, his eyes sunken and dull.
Judge Vance sat behind the bench, his face carved out of Ohio granite.
“Mr. Voss,” Judge Vance said, his voice ringing through the silent courtroom. “I have reviewed your pre-sentence investigation report, as well as the victim impact statements submitted by Mrs. Leona Whitcomb and Mrs. Arden Whitcomb. Do you have anything to say before this court passes sentence?”
Grant gripped the edge of the defense table with his trembling, cuffed hands. He stepped up to the microphone, his chest heaving.
“Your Honor... I know I made terrible mistakes,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I got caught up in trying to please my father... trying to be someone I wasn't. I let greed and pride ruin my life. I’m sorry to Arden. I’m sorry to Leona. If... if the court would consider community control, I will work every day to pay back every cent I owe...”
Judge Vance listened without changing his expression. When Grant finished, the judge adjusted his glasses and looked down at the sentencing papers.
“Mr. Voss, your counsel characterizes your actions as ‘mistakes’ born of family pressure,” Judge Vance began, his voice cold and deliberate. “This court sees it differently.
“You did not make a mistake when you forged your wife’s name on a fraudulent mortgage. You did not make a mistake when you stole thousands of dollars from an elderly woman who had generously opened her pocketbook to give you a home. And you certainly did not make a mistake when you showed up at two o’clock in the morning with a container of gasoline to burn down a local business that represents thirty years of honest labor in this community.”
Judge Vance looked directly at Grant, his eyes piercing through the boy’s trembling facade.
“You are a predator whose arrogance was only matched by your cowardice. You thought that because you wore expensive clothes and worked in an office, you were superior to the people who build, fix, and maintain the world around you. Today, this county will disabuse you of that notion.”
The judge picked up his gavel.
“On Count One: Attempted Aggravated Arson, a felony of the second degree, it is the sentence of this court that you be committed to the Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Correction for a definite term of four years.
“On Count Three: Grand Theft by Deception, a felony of the fourth degree, you are sentenced to an additional eighteen months, to be served consecutively to Count One, for a total aggregate sentence of five and one-half years.”
Grant’s knees buckled. His attorney caught him by the elbow to keep him from hitting the floor.
From the front row, I watched him.
There was no joy in my heart. No wild celebration. Only the deep, solemn satisfaction of seeing an unbalanced ledger finally zeroed out to the last cent.
“Furthermore,” Judge Vance concluded, “upon your release, you will be subject to three years of mandatory post-release control and full restitution orders. Remand the defendant.”
Deputy Harris stepped forward, took Grant by the shoulder, and turned him toward the holding cell door.
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As Grant was led away to begin his five years in prison, he didn't look at the gallery. He didn't look at Arden. He just stared at his own shackled feet, shuffle-stepping through the courtroom until the iron door slammed shut behind him.
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