The red wine hit my face before my mind could register Garrett’s hand moving.

At 2:00 PM, Courtroom 4B reconvened for the final imposition of sentence.

The atmosphere was heavy, solemn, and charged with the finality of an execution. The press benches were completely filled; sketch artists worked furiously on their pads, capturing the bowed heads of Garrett Vance and Vivian Vance as they stood side by side before the bench of Judge Harold Holbrook.

Amanda Chen stood at the prosecution lectern, her posture immaculate.

"Your Honor," Chen began, her voice ringing clear throughout the chamber. "The government is not dealing with an isolated failure of judgment. We are dealing with an organized, predatory criminal enterprise that operated inside the sanctity of a marriage. The defendants did not merely steal funds; they attempted to systematically strip Mrs. Claire Montgomery of her family heritage, her corporate autonomy, and her dignity."

Chen turned slightly, gesturing toward the empty defense table where I had chosen not to sit.

"The victim in this case has declined to submit a statement requesting vengeance," Chen continued. "Mrs. Montgomery has requested only that the law be applied with absolute impartiality. The government requests the maximum sentence within the federal sentencing guidelines: sixteen years for Vivian Vance, and twelve years for Garrett Vance."

Judge Holbrook nodded slowly. He looked down at the defense counsel.

"Does the defense have anything to add before sentence is passed?"

David Miller stepped forward, his head low. "We submit to the court’s mercy, Your Honor."

Robert Vance, Vivian’s counsel, simply shook his head. "Nothing further, Your Honor."

Judge Holbrook set down his pen. He leaned his forearms against the heavy mahogany bench, looking down at the two defendants with a countenance of pure, unadulterated biblical judgment.

"Garrett Vance. Vivian Vance. In my thirty years on the federal bench, I have rarely encountered two individuals who possessed such an extraordinary degree of unearned entitlement coupled with such absolute moral bankruptcy."

Vivian began to weep softly, her head bowed nearly to her chest.

"You, Vivian Vance," Holbrook continued, his voice rising in power, "used your role as a mother not to guide your son toward honor, industry, and integrity, but to mentor him in the arts of parasitism, forgery, and deceit. You spent decades living beyond your means, using false identities and foreign accounts to shield yourself from the consequences of your financial vanity."

Holbrook shifted his gaze to Garrett.

"And you, Garrett Vance. You were given every advantage. You were welcomed into a noble, hardworking American family. You were offered love, partnership, and extraordinary resources. And how did you repay that generosity? By treating your wife like an open vault, humiliating her in public, and conspiring with your mother to rob her blind while you flaunted your stolen wealth before mistresses and sycophants."

Holbrook picked up his master sentencing order.

"As to the defendant, Vivian Vance: On Counts One, Two, and Five, it is the judgment of this court that you be committed to the custody of the Federal Bureau of Prisons for a term of eighteen years."

Vivian let out a piercing shriek and collapsed into her attorney’s arms. The marshals immediately grabbed her under the shoulders, holding her upright as her legs gave out completely.

"Furthermore," Holbrook added, raising his voice over her screams, "the court orders full restitution in the amount of two million four hundred and eighty thousand dollars, alongside a fine of five hundred thousand dollars, to be satisfied through the immediate liquidation of all seized foreign assets."

Holbrook didn't pause. He turned his gaze directly onto Garrett.

"As to the defendant, Garrett Vance: On Counts One, Four, and Seven, it is the judgment of this court that you be committed to the custody of the Federal Bureau of Prisons for a term of thirteen years and six months."

Garrett let out a ragged, strangled gasp, his knees buckling, hitting the carpeted floor with a heavy, sickening thud. The marshals hauled him up by the chains, his face twisted in utter, unadulterated agony.

"Upon release," Holbrook concluded, "both defendants will serve five years of supervised release, during which time neither defendant shall be permitted to hold corporate directorships, manage third-party financial instruments, or open offshore credit facilities. Remand the prisoners."

*BANG!*

The gavel struck the block with the force of an executioner's axe.

"Court is adjourned!"

The courtroom erupted into a frenzy of camera shutters, flashing lights, and shouting reporters scrambling for the doors.

Vivian was dragged out through the side exit, weeping hysterically, her designer shoes dragging along the carpet, leaving black scuff marks behind her. Garrett followed, completely broken, weeping like a frightened child, his orange jumpsuit soaked with sweat and tears as the heavy steel doors slammed shut behind him forever.

In the private viewing gallery, Marcus Vance turned to me, closing his leather folder with a soft, satisfied smile.

"It’s over, Claire," he said quietly. "Total victory. Complete justice."

I stood up, walked to the glass, and looked down at the empty courtroom below. The air in my lungs felt lighter than it had in five years.