Chapter 8 - The Plea Bargain
Two months later, inside the Westchester County Correctional Facility’s visiting room, Vanessa sat across from her public defender, a young, overworked attorney named David Ross.
Her appearance had dramatically deteriorated. The silk dresses had been replaced by faded orange scrubs; her nails were short and unpolished; her face was drawn, thin, and lined with stress.
“The prosecution is offering a deal,” David said, laying out a thick legal document. “If you plead guilty to felony assault, corporate fraud, and witness intimidation, they will recommend a sentence of twelve years in state prison.”
“Twelve years?!” Vanessa shrieked, slamming her palms on the metal table. “Are you out of your mind?! I am thirty-four years old! That’s my entire youth! Tell them no! Tell them we’re going to trial!”
David sighed, rubbing his temples. “Mrs. Vance—or Ms. Montgomery, rather—if we go to trial, you face up to twenty-five years. The video evidence is absolute. The jury pool hates you. The media coverage has framed this as the ultimate case of wealthy entitlement and cruelty. Furthermore, your father’s testimony as part of his own plea deal with federal prosecutors directly implicates you in the charity embezzlement.”
Vanessa froze. “My father... testified against me?”
“He traded his testimony for a reduced sentence in a minimum-security facility,” David said plainly. “You have no allies left. Your friends from that night—Chloe and Beatrice—have signed non-prosecution agreements in exchange for testifying about your previous history of abusing staff.”
Vanessa slumped back into the cold metal chair. Her world had completely vanished.
She remembered the nights she had sat in the winter salon, sipping crystal champagne, laughing about how easy it was to control people, how superior she felt to the staff who scrubbed her floors. She remembered standing over Elena, feeling the surge of petty power as she demanded her to beg.
Now, she was the one sitting in steel handcuffs, dependent on the mercy of a prosecutor who wanted to make an example out of her.
“Does... does Adrian ever ask about me?” she whispered, a tear finally breaking through her cold exterior.
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“Mr. Vance has completely finalized the divorce,” David replied, without warmth. “His legal team has placed a permanent restraining order against you and your family. He has moved his headquarters to London. He does not wish to hear your name again.”
Vanessa closed her eyes as the heavy weight of her reality crushed her remaining defiance. She took the pen with trembling fingers and signed her name on the bottom line of the plea agreement.
