Chapter 17 - The Fall of the Prodigal Son
A week later, the federal court held the preliminary hearing for Julian Owens.
I sat in the front row of the gallery, wearing a tailored black suit, watching as my brother was brought out in orange prison scrubs and leg chains.
Julian looked haggard. The vanity and arrogance that had defined him were gone. He kept glancing back at the gallery, desperately searching for anyone who might support him. But Eleanor was sitting in a separate holding cell awaiting her own trial, and all of his so-called high-society friends had blocked his calls.
His public defender leaned in to speak to him before turning to the judge. "Your Honor, my client wishes to enter a guilty plea to four counts of wire fraud and conspiracy, and requests leniency based on familial manipulation."
The judge looked over his glasses at Julian. "Mr. Owens, do you understand that entering a guilty plea carries a mandatory minimum sentence of eight years in federal custody?"
Julian’s eyes welled with tears. He looked back at me, mouthing the words: Please, Victoria. Help me.
I looked at him with complete detachment. I remembered how he had stood in the courtroom seven days ago, laughing at me, boasting that they would take everything I had. I remembered how he had let my father suffer in silence while spending stolen funds on designer clothes.
I did not move a muscle. I did not offer a single word of support.
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"The plea is accepted," the judge announced, slamming his gavel down. "Mr. Owens is sentenced to eight years at the Fort Dix Federal Correctional Institution, without the possibility of early parole."
As the guards led Julian away, he began to sob openly, his chains clanking heavily against the linoleum floor. He had traded his life of luxury for eight years in a concrete cell, all because he had mistaken my kindness for weakness.
