Chapter 11 - The Fall of Todd Vance
At two o'clock that afternoon, I sat in a conference room on the fifth floor of the federal building in Jefferson City.
Across the long walnut table sat Todd Vance.
His bespoke suit was wrinkled, his silk tie was undone, and the smug, untouchable arrogance that had defined his existence had been completely replaced by the hollow, sunken stare of a condemned man. His high-priced defense attorney sat beside him, repeatedly tapping a legal pad and whispering urgent warnings that Todd seemed completely unable to hear.
Agent Daniel Brooks entered the room, carrying a fresh stack of case files. He tossed them onto the table with a heavy thud.
"Todd," Brooks said, taking a seat beside me. "Your proffer session has been reviewed by the United States Attorney."
Todd looked up, his lips parched and trembling. "And? Will they drop the racketeering counts? I gave you Mercer. I gave you the offshore routing numbers. I gave you the pipeline logistics."
"You gave us what we already had," Brooks replied without pity. "Lauren Mitchell had already extracted the entire database before you even walked into her living room this morning."
Todd turned his hollow eyes toward me. "Lauren... please. We were friends once. When you first moved to Cedar Ridge, I helped you find your office space. I introduced you to clients. You know I was just handling the Caldwells' legal work. I didn't know about the drugs. I swear to God, I didn't know about the narcotics!"
I looked at him, feeling an overwhelming sense of disgust.
"You knew, Todd," I said, my voice steady and cold. "You knew when Ryan beat a subcontractor within an inch of his life three years ago and you paid the victim fifty thousand dollars to drop the assault charges. You knew when Sheriff Mercer impounded a delivery truck from Texas and you filed a fraudulent motion to have the evidence destroyed before the state police could test it. You didn't care where the money came from, Todd. As long as you got your three percent."
Todd lowered his head, pressing his palms against his temples. A dry, choking sob escaped his throat.
"The plea agreement is on the table, Todd," Brooks said, sliding a document toward him. "Twenty-two years at ADX Florence or a medium-security facility in Terre Haute, contingent on your full, unreserved testimony against the Del Rio cartel leadership in open court."
Todd’s attorney reached out and pulled the paper toward his client. "Sign it, Todd. It’s the best you're ever going to get. If this goes to a jury, you're dying in prison."
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With shaking hands, the man who had tried to force me to surrender my daughter that very morning picked up a cheap plastic ballpoint pen and signed his freedom away.
***
