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Chapter 700:
She thought of her own marriage. Of the ways Cole had tried to trade, to negotiate, to purchase her compliance with promises and threats and the occasional genuine gesture of remorse.
At least Richard was honest about his selfishness. At least he didn’t pretend to love the woman he was sacrificing.
“All rise p>
The judge returned. Accepted the plea agreement with the weary resignation of someone who had seen too many deals, too many compromises, too many partial victories masquerading as justice.
“Susan Beasley, having accepted responsibility for wire fraud, money laundering, and conspiracy to commit financial crimes, this court sentences you to twelve years in federal prison, followed by five years of supervised release p>
The gavel fell.
Susan made a sound—half gasp, half moan—and collapsed into her chair. Richard didn’t touch her. Didn’t look at her. Simply stared straight ahead, calculating his own survival, his own reduced sentence, his own eventual return to whatever life he could rebuild.
The marshals moved in—professional, efficient, gentle in the way of people who did this every day. They helped Susan stand, cuffed her hands behind her back, and led her toward the side door that would take her to processing, to transport, to the facility where she would spend the next twelve years of her life.
T𝘩𝖾 𝘣𝘦𝗌𝘵 𝗋𝘦𝗏𝗶ewѕ 𝗈𝗇
At the door, Susan turned. Looked directly at June.
Her eyes were empty. Defeated. The particular emptiness of someone who had lost everything and couldn’t understand why.
June met her gaze. Held it. Did not look away until the door closed between them.
“June p>
Easton’s voice, soft and close.
She turned. Found him watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read—concern, pride, something that might have been love.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “But it’s what I can get. What I can prove. What the law—” she stopped, laughed softly, “—what the law allows p>
Easton nodded and offered his arm. “Then let’s go. Before the press finds the front entrance p>
They walked out through the side door, into afternoon light that felt too bright, too exposing, too absolutely indifferent to the weight of what had just happened.
Behind them, the courthouse held its secrets—the deals, the compromises, the partial justice that was all the system could provide.
Ahead of them, the rest of June’s life. Whatever she decided to make of it.
The courthouse steps were a gauntlet.
June had known they would be. Had prepared for the cameras, the shouted questions, the particular violence of public attention focused on private pain.
She hadn’t prepared for Alycia.
The scream came from her left—high and broken and absolutely unhinged. June turned, instinctively, and saw her: Alycia Beasley, or what was left of her, hair plastered to her skull by rain or sweat or both, designer coat torn and mud-stained, face twisted into something that wasn’t quite human anymore.
“You did this!” Alycia shrieked, launching herself toward the steps. “You destroyed them! You destroyed me p>
The crowd parted. Cameras swung, found the new drama, the better angle. June felt Easton’s hand at her back, pushing her toward the waiting car, but she didn’t move.
Couldn’t move.