Chapter 9 - Echoes in the FoundationThe verdict came down on a rainy Friday evening—three weeks after the trial began.
Marcus Vance was sentenced to forty-five years without the possibility of parole in a maximum-security federal penitentiary. Grant, who had cooperated with federal prosecutors in a desperate bid to shave years off his sentence, received twelve years for corporate fraud, conspiracy, and attempted arson.
Clara stood on the front porch of the Grantham boarding house, watching the rain wash over the maple trees. The local town council had officially renamed the street Whitmore Lane in honor of her grandmother’s legacy as the city’s silent protector.
A sleek black car pulled up to the gravel drive. This time, it wasn't Vincent Moreau who stepped out, but a young woman in her late twenties carrying a heavy leather portfolio—a junior prosecutor from the federal district office, looking exhausted and carrying the weight of a dozen new investigations.
"Clara," the woman said, stepping onto the porch out of the rain. "We found another hard drive buried in one of Marcus Vance's off-shore accounts in Zurich. It contains names of politicians across three states."
Clara took the portfolio, her fingers brushing the leather. She looked back at the third stair inside the doorway, where the dark handprint seemed to glow faintly in the evening light.
"Keep digging," Clara said softly, a faint, resolute smile touching the corners of her lips. "We’re just getting started."
May you like
The prosecutor nodded, turned back to her car, and drove off into the gathering dusk.
Clara stepped back inside, closed the heavy oak door against the wind, and bolted the lock. Pip trotted over, sitting neatly at her feet, his tail thumping a happy rhythm against the floorboards.
