Chapter 9 - Ashes in the Courthouse
Two months later, the federal courthouse in Lower Manhattan was packed to capacity for the preliminary sentencing hearing of Miles Corrigan and the formal bankruptcy dissolution of the Vale Foundation.
The courtroom was quiet, save for the scratching of sketch artists' pens and the rustle of legal briefs. Miles sat at the defense table in a drab prison-issue orange jumpsuit, his hair graying at the temples, his posture permanently slumped. His high-priced defense attorney looked exhausted, having spent eight weeks attempting to dismantle the airtight forensic accounting evidence provided by Iris’s team.
Judge Margaret Vance—no relation to Gabriel, though possessing an equally formidable reputation for integrity—peered over her glasses at the defense table.
"Mr. Corrigan," Judge Vance said, her voice echoing off the mahogany paneling. "In my thirty years on the bench, I have rarely seen a case where corporate arrogance was so completely uncoupled from basic human decency. You took public subsidies meant for life-saving medical supplies and funneled them into offshore accounts to finance private jets and social standing for yourself and your associates."
Miles kept his head down, unable to look the judge in the eye.
"Furthermore," the judge continued, "your attempt to intimidate witnesses and blackmail charitable trusts reveals a character devoid of civic value. This court sentences you to twelve years at the federal correctional facility in Otisville, with full restitution of forty-six million dollars to the municipal healthcare systems you defrauded."
A sharp gasp went up from the gallery where several of Miles's former business partners sat.
In the back row, Bianca Vale sat with her mother, both of them dressed in plain, unbranded dark coats. Their assets had been stripped to pay the outstanding debts of the bankrupt family trust; their name had become an industry-wide punchline. When the gavel struck the sounding block, signaling the end of the session, Bianca looked toward the doors.
Iris was standing near the exit, waiting for Gabriel to finish a brief conversation with the federal prosecutor.
Bianca stood up, her legs trembling slightly, and took three hesitant steps toward Iris. The arrogance that had once defined her was completely gone, replaced by the hollow, haunted look of someone who had discovered that the world outside her silver bubble was vast, cold, and unforgiving.
"Iris," Bianca whispered, her voice barely audible over the chatter of the dispersing crowd.
Iris turned, her expression calm and neutral. She didn't look away, nor did she look down on the woman who had tried to destroy her.
"I... I am sorry," Bianca stammered, tears welling in her eyes. "I lost everything. My family... our name... we have nothing left."
May you like
Iris looked at her for a long, quiet moment before speaking. "You didn't lose everything, Bianca. You only lost your money. You still have your hands, your health, and your life. If you want to know what it feels like to have real value, I suggest you find a shelter, put on an apron, and learn how to carry a tray without expecting anyone to thank you."
Bianca flinched as if struck by lightning, but Iris didn't wait for an answer. She turned and walked toward Gabriel, who had just stepped out into the marble corridor.
