Chapter 17 - The Trial of the AttorneyMidnight struck with the heavy, solemn chime of the grandfather clock in my Manhattan study.
The room was bathed in the warm, dim amber glow of desk lamps. Outside, the New York skyline glittered like a sea of diamonds against the velvet night sky.
Sitting in the center of the room, tied securely to a heavy oak chair, was Lawrence Vance.
His expensive Italian suit was rumpled, his hair disheveled, and the arrogant, smug expression he usually wore in federal courtrooms was entirely gone, replaced by a pale, trembling terror.
I stood behind my mahogany desk, pouring a finger of amber whiskey into a heavy crystal glass.
“Lawrence,” I said softly, swirling the liquid. “Twenty years. Twenty years I paid you millions of dollars, trusted you with the syndicate’s deepest legal secrets, and treated you like family.”
Vance swallowed hard, his voice shaking. “Alessandro... please. It was just business. The legal landscape is shifting. The old ways are dying—you know that as well as I do.”
“The old ways didn't die because of the landscape, Lawrence,” I walked slowly around the desk, stopping right in front of him. “They died because greedy men like you thought loyalty was a negotiable commodity.”
“I transferred the accounts back!” Vance blurted out frantically, thrashing against the ropes. “Every single cent is back in the syndicate reserves! Just let me go—I can still represent you, I can—”
“You’re done representing anyone,” I interrupted, raising my voice just enough to cut him off.
The heavy study doors opened, and Gabriel stepped in, flanked by two armed guards.
“Take him to the federal prosecutor’s drop-box anonymously,” I ordered coldly. “Along with all the encrypted wire transfers, shell corporation receipts, and audio confessions we pulled from his office server. Let the federal indictment do what it does best.”
Vance’s face turned the color of ash. “No! Not the feds! Alessandro, please, they’ll lock me away for the rest of my life! Kill me here, just don't send me to them!”
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“Prison is too kind for a traitor, Lawrence,” I said, turning my back on him. “Take him away.”
As the guards dragged the screaming, weeping attorney out of the study, the heavy oak doors closed behind them with a final, heavy thud.
