Chapter 9 - The Settlement of Accounts
The sun rose three days later over a valley that had been washed clean by the storm.
The air was thin, crisp, and smelled of woodsmoke, wet pine needles, and the deep, rich soil of the lower bottoms. The mud on the front drive had dried into hard grey clay, and Pete Holloway’s boys had already spent two hours replacing the splintered mudroom frame with a four-inch timber of seasoned red oak that would have stopped a battering ram.
I sat in the probate chambers of the Blackwood County Courthouse, wearing a clean, dark wool skirt and the small silver locket Grandpa had given me for my sixteenth birthday.
Judge Harper sat behind the high walnut bench, his white hair neat, his spectacles resting on the open leather volume of the county deed records. Arthur Vance sat to my left, his accordion folder now nearly empty, its contents entered into the state archive.
Across the aisle, behind the defense table, sat Richard Sterling in an orange county jumpsuit, his wrists shackled to a chain around his waist. He had not shaved in four days. The arrogance that had carried him through thirty years of corporate fraud had collapsed into a slack, defeated slouch.
Evelyn sat beside an appointed public defender, her face hollow, wearing a cheap cotton blouse the women’s auxiliary had provided her from their charity closet. She didn't look at Richard. She didn't look at the judge. She stared down at her fingernails, which were chipped, dirty, and bitten down to the quick.
"Under the provisions of Section Twelve," Judge Harper said, his voice filling the wood-paneled room with the weight of forty years on the bench, "the defendant, Richard Sterling, has entered a negotiated plea of guilty to criminal trespass, attempted breaking and entering of an occupied dwelling, and felony destruction of real property."
The judge looked over the top of his glasses, his gaze landing on Richard like an anvil.
"The court has also received certified documentation from the federal district attorney for the Northern District of Illinois regarding an ongoing inquiry into commercial embezzlement and wire fraud. In light of the defendant's plea, and with the full concurrence of the prosecuting attorney, the state will defer sentencing on the local charges to allow federal marshals to take custody of the defendant at noon today."
Richard didn't flinch. He just closed his eyes, his chin dropping toward his chest. He knew what was waiting for him in Chicago. Without the ridge timber, without the Cole inheritance to settle with his creditors, the federal holding facility at Metropolitan Correctional Center was the only safe place left for him.
"Regarding the civil claims against the Cole Asset Trust," Judge Harper continued, turning a heavy parchment page, "the court finds that the plaintiffs, Evelyn Sterling and Richard Sterling, have failed to establish any color of title, equitable right, or familial claim upon the real property known as the Cole Homestead, or any accounts, personal effects, or intellectual properties of the late Thomas Edward Cole."
The judge looked down at Mom.
"Mrs. Sterling. In light of the comprehensive release executed by you on October 19, 2007, wherein you received full and final settlement of your maternal claims in the amount of eighty thousand dollars, this court enters an order of total legal extinguishment. You are, in the eyes of this state, a stranger to Clara Cole. You will not contact her by letter, telephone, electronic communication, or through third parties. You will not enter Blackwood County for a period of ten years without written permission from this court. If you violate this order, you will serve twelve months in the county jail in Oak Creek. Do you understand?"
Mom didn't speak. She just nodded once—a tiny, jerking motion of her head that carried no dignity, no defiance, and no remorse. She was simply an empty vessel whose contents had been poured into the dirt.
"Miss Cole," Judge Harper said, his voice softening until it sounded like a grandfather speaking across a dinner table. "Would you like to address the court before we close this docket?"
I stood up.
May you like
The wood of the bench was cool under my palms. I looked across the five feet of empty air that separated me from the woman who had given me birth and the man who had traded me like an old ledger entry.
"No, Your Honor," I said. "Grandpa said everything that needed to be said seventeen years ago. I’m ready to go home."
