Chapter 8 - The Arraignment & The Asset Seizure
On Thursday morning, I was discharged from Piedmont Hospital.
I refused to leave through the back service elevator.
Wearing a sharp, tailored black wool trouser suit with a crisp white silk blouse, my hair pulled back into an elegant knot, and a customized medical dressing fitted cleanly along the left side of my face and jaw, I walked out through the main revolving doors of the hospital.
Maya walked beside me. Mark Sterling walked on my right.
A wall of fifty photojournalists, television reporters, and independent news cameras erupted in flashes the second my boots touched the pavement. Microphones were thrust toward my face like a forest of spears.
“Ms. Ward! Are you going to testify against your sister?!”
“Sloan, how do you respond to the Vance family’s annulment?!”
“Look this way, Sloan!”
I stopped at the top of the concrete steps. I didn't hide my face. I didn't duck behind sunglasses or pull a scarf up.
I looked straight down the barrels of the national television cameras.
“My name is Sloan Ward,” I said, my voice steady, clear, and ringing with absolute authority. “For four years, my family believed that my silence was a sign of weakness. They believed that because I work with numbers instead of likes, I could be robbed, abused, and burned to fuel their vanity.”
The reporters went dead silent, hanging on every syllable.
“The tragedy that occurred at the St. Regis was not an accident. It was the violent culmination of financial greed and unchecked narcissism. But the law does not operate on social media algorithms. Today, the bill comes due.”
I turned, stepped into Mark Sterling’s waiting black town car, and closed the door.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the Fulton County Superior Courthouse.
The courtroom for the emergency bail and asset forfeiture hearing was packed to the gallery rafters. Sitting at the defense table in bright orange jail-issue jumpsuits, their wrists shackled to leather belts around their waists, were Fallon and Sibil.
Without their extensions, makeup artists, and filtered lenses, both women looked hollow, haggard, and utterly broken.
Fallon’s eyes were swollen from endless crying. When she saw me walk through the swinging wooden gate, she flinched, shrinking back into her seat. Sibil stared straight down at the scarred oak table, unable to meet my gaze.
Judge Marcus Holloway, a veteran jurist known for zero tolerance toward white-collar arrogance, banged his heavy gavel with a crack like thunder.
“Case number 24-CR-8891, State of Georgia versus Fallon Ward and Sibil Ward,” Judge Holloway announced. “We are here for bail reconsideration and the state’s petition for emergency asset receivership under the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act.”
Fallon’s defense attorney, a high-priced criminal litigator named Arthur Vance (no relation to Julian), stood up frantically.
“Your Honor! My client is a young woman with no prior criminal record! She is being subjected to unprecedented public persecution! We request immediate release on signature bond so she can seek private medical evaluation—”
“Sit down, Mr. Vance,” Judge Holloway interrupted, his voice dropping into a dangerous bass growl. “I have reviewed the unredacted digital communications between Ms. Fallon Ward and Ms. Chloe Davenport. I have reviewed the chemical pathology reports from Piedmont Hospital. Your client did not commit a high-spirited prank. She weaponized an industrial caustic agent to permanently disfigure her own sister to prevent the exposure of grand theft.”
Judge Holloway leaned forward over the bench, fixing Fallon with a glare of pure disgust.
“Bail is denied. The defendants will remain remanded to the custody of the Fulton County Sheriff’s Department pending trial.”
Fallon let out a choked wail, burying her face in her handcuffed hands.
“Furthermore,” Judge Holloway continued, looking toward Mark Sterling. “The court grants the plaintiff’s emergency motion for immediate judicial receivership over all assets belonging to F&S Holdings, the Ward Logistics Park, and the personal estates of Sibil Ward and Fallon Ward. Mr. Mark Sterling is appointed chief receiver with full authority to audit, liquidate, and reallocate all proceeds to the rightful beneficiary, Sloan Ward.”
The gavel dropped again. *CRACK.*
As the bailiffs stepped forward to escort Fallon and Sibil back through the holding cell doors, Fallon suddenly lunged toward the railing, her chains clanking wildly.
“Sloan! Sloan, please!” she screamed, snot and tears running down her bare face. “Look at me! I’m your baby sister! You can't let them send me to prison! Julian left me! I have nothing left! Sloan, tell them you forgive me!”
I stood at the counsel table, tall, poised, and unyielding.
I looked into the eyes of the girl who had spent her entire life stepping on my back to reach the spotlight.
May you like
“You’re right, Fallon,” I said quietly, loud enough for the entire courtroom to hear. “You have nothing left. But don't worry. I’m an actuary. I will make sure the debt you owe this state is calculated down to the very last day.”
***
