Chapter 7 - THE TREMBLING EMPIRE
Two weeks later, the legal net surrounding Julian and Fiona pulled so tight that neither of them could breathe.
The Cook County Circuit Court held its formal hearing regarding the dissolution of marriage and the permanent extension of the Order of Protection.
I arrived at the courthouse flanked by Darcy and my private security team, wearing a tailored navy wool coat. As we walked through the marble corridors of the court building, I saw Julian sitting on a wooden bench outside Courtroom 402.
He looked unrecognizable. The slick, polished architect who used to spend thousands on custom suits was gone. He wore a wrinkled, off-the-rack jacket that was two sizes too big, his hair was messy, and dark purple circles bruised the skin beneath his hollow eyes.
Beside him sat Fiona, wearing an old, faded coat, looking terrified as she clutched a cheap plastic handbag.
When Julian saw me, he stood up abruptly, taking a step forward. "Sloan—"
My two security guards instantly stepped between us, their towering frames blocking him completely.
"Back up, Mr. Vance," the guard warned sternly. "Stay five feet away."
Julian stopped, his lips trembling. "Sloan... please..."
"Silence in the hall!" the bailiff announced, swinging the double doors of Courtroom 402 open. "All rise for Judge Katherine Vance."
We filed into the courtroom. I sat at the petitioner’s table beside Darcy, sitting tall and composed. Julian and his public defender—a harried, overworked young attorney who looked like he wished he were anywhere else—sat at the respondent’s table.
Judge Katherine Vance—no relation to Julian, much to his misfortune—took her bench. She was a stern, grey-haired woman with eyes like steel traps.
"We are here in the matter of Vance v. Vance," Judge Vance began, reviewing the thick stack of files before her. "I have reviewed the petitioner’s evidence, including the certified audio recordings, smart-home security logs, forensic financial audits, and the pending federal tax indictment."
Judge Vance looked over her glasses directly at Julian’s public defender. "Counsel, does your client have any response to the physical evidence of domestic abuse and unlawful restraint?"
The young attorney stood up, clearing his throat nervously. "Your Honor... my client maintains that the incident in question was an unfortunate domestic dispute, and that he acted out of emotional distress—"
"He locked his wife in a dark room and demanded she prepare sixty meals overnight," Judge Vance interrupted flatly. "Is that your definition of 'emotional distress', Counsel?"
"No, Your Honor," the attorney stammered, sinking back into his chair.
Judge Vance slammed her gavel down with a sharp THUD.
"The Emergency Order of Protection is hereby converted into a Permanent Injunction," Judge Vance ruled. "Julian Vance is ordered to remain no less than 1,000 feet away from Sloan Vance for a period of ten years. Furthermore, based on the unambiguous terms of the valid Prenuptial Agreement, the court finds that all real estate, corporate entities, and liquid accounts held within the Sloan Vance Revocable Living Trust remain the sole, exclusive property of the petitioner."
Fiona gasped loudly from the gallery behind them, bursting into loud, frantic sobs.
"As for the respondent’s claim for temporary spousal support," Judge Vance continued, glaring at Julian with utter contempt, "this court finds that the respondent’s documented acts of domestic battery and financial fraud render any claim for alimony entirely frivolous. Motion denied."
Julian slumped forward, burying his head in his hands on the defense table.
"Court is adjourned," Judge Vance declared, striking the gavel once more.
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As I stood up, buttoning my coat, Darcy leaned over with a wicked smirk. "That was a legal execution."
"Not yet," I whispered back, looking over at the two federal agents from the IRS Criminal Investigation Unit who were currently standing near the courtroom exits, waiting for Julian to step out. "Now comes the grand finale."
