Chapter 9 - THE SENTENCING
Nine months later.
The Federal Courthouse at Foley Square was silent as Judge Robert Vance took his seat on the bench.
Lucas Montgomery sat at the defense table. The luxury suits were gone forever. He wore a dark blue federal inmate jumpsuit, his hands restrained by heavy leather cuffs. His face was gaunt, his hair cut short according to prison regulations, his once-captivating eyes hollow and sunken into his skull.
Over the past nine months, his legal defense had completely fractured. When faced with eighty-four counts of federal wire fraud, identity theft, forging government seals, and racketeering—supported by flawless digital metadata, four pristine victim testimonies, and his own mother's affidavit—he had been forced to enter a blind guilty plea.
There was no jury trial. Today was simply the day of accounting.
"Does the defendant wish to make a statement before sentence is passed?" Judge Vance asked, looking down over his heavy wooden bench.
Lucas stood up awkwardly, his chains clinking against the leg of the table. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket with his bound hands.
"Your Honor," Lucas began, his voice thin, devoid of the theatrical resonance that had once commanded ballrooms. "I... I made mistakes. I got caught up in the pressure of the Manhattan business world. I wanted to build something great. I never intended to hurt the women who loved me... I was just trying to keep the dream alive until the next contract closed..."
He paused, looking toward the gallery where Natalie, Elena, Sophia, Evelyn, and I sat in the front row.
"I am sorry for the pain I caused," he added weakly, reading from his script like a terrible actor who knew his show had been canceled.
Judge Vance let out a long, heavy sigh, stacking the thick case files before him into a neat tower.
"Mr. Montgomery," Judge Vance said, his voice echoing through the marble courtroom like thunder. "I have sat on this bench for twenty-four years. I have seen bank robbers, mob bosses, and corporate embezzlers. But rarely have I seen a defendant who displays such a calculated, cold-hearted disregard for human lives under the guise of romantic devotion."
Judge Vance adjusted his robes.
"You did not make 'mistakes', Mr. Montgomery. You ran a serial human predatory enterprise. You targeted brilliant, trusting women, systematically dismantled their financial security, stole their credit, leveraged their family inheritances, and used the wreckage of one woman's life to build the trap for the next."
The judge looked at the prosecutor.
"On Counts 1 through 12, wire fraud, I sentence you to twelve years. On Counts 13 through 30, aggravated identity theft, I sentence you to six years, to run consecutively. On Counts 31 through 84, racketeering and grand larceny, I sentence you to an additional seven years."
Judge Vance slammed his gavel down with a sharp, final THUD .
"Total sentence: Twenty-five years in federal custody, without the possibility of parole prior to eighty-five percent service. Restitution is ordered in the amount of six million, four hundred thousand dollars, to be satisfied through the immediate seizure and liquidation of all present and future assets. Remanded to custody."
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Lucas didn't cry. He simply collapsed into his chair as the federal marshals pulled him up by his arms, leading him through the back door toward the transport van that would take him to the federal penitentiary in Pennsylvania.
He didn't look back at us. And none of us stood up to watch him go.
