Chapter 9 - The Confession
The courtroom was packed to absolute capacity.
Reporters filled the gallery, their pens scratching furiously against their notepads.
The air was thick with anticipation.
I sat in the front row this time, flanked by my father on one side and a victim's advocate on the other.
David was brought into the courtroom.
He had lost at least fifteen pounds.
His cheekbones jutted out sharply against his pale skin.
The bright orange jumpsuit hung off his frame like a deflated balloon.
He didn't look at me.
He kept his eyes glued to the scuffed wooden floor.
Sylvia was seated a few feet away, heavily medicated and staring blankly at the judge's bench.
The judge slammed his gavel, demanding silence.
"Mr. Montgomery," the judge boomed, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.
"Your counsel has informed this court that you wish to change your plea."
"Is that correct?"
David stood up slowly, his chains rattling in the dead silent room.
"Yes, Your Honor," David whispered, his voice trembling so badly it was barely audible.
"Speak into the microphone, Mr. Montgomery," the judge commanded sharply.
"This court needs to hear you."
David leaned forward, gripping the edge of the wooden table to keep his hands from shaking.
"Yes, Your Honor," he repeated, his voice cracking loudly over the speakers.
"And are you making this plea willingly, without coercion or promise of leniency?" the judge asked.
"Yes," David replied softly.
The judge opened the thick file in front of him.
"Let the record reflect that the defendant is pleading guilty to all charges," the judge stated.
"Mr. Montgomery, before this court accepts your plea, I require you to allocute."
"You must state, for the record, exactly what you are pleading guilty to."
David closed his eyes, a single tear slipping down his hollow cheek.
This was the part he dreaded most.
The destruction of his massive, fragile ego.
"On the night of December twenty-fifth..." David began, his voice breaking into a sob.
"I... I stood by and allowed my mother to assault my pregnant wife."
The gallery murmured collectively.
"Silence!" the judge roared, slamming his gavel again.
"Continue, Mr. Montgomery."
David swallowed hard, looking physically sick.
"When my wife began to bleed and begged for an ambulance..." David choked out.
"I destroyed her phone."
"I told her I would not call for help because it would embarrass me in front of my colleagues."
"I threatened to have her institutionalized if she spoke out."
"And the financial charges?" the judge prompted coldly.
"I stole over eight hundred thousand dollars from my clients' trust accounts," David confessed, hanging his head in ultimate shame.
"I hid the money in offshore accounts to prevent my wife from receiving any marital assets during a planned divorce."
He finally looked up.
For a brief, pathetic second, his eyes met mine.
There was no arrogance left.
There was only a broken, ruined man staring at the woman he had severely underestimated.
"I am guilty, Your Honor," David sobbed, burying his face in his chained hands.
The judge didn't offer an ounce of pity.
"I accept your plea," the judge declared.
"David Montgomery, I hereby sentence you to twenty-five years in federal prison, without the possibility of early parole."
"Sylvia Montgomery, I sentence you to ten years in a maximum-security state facility."
"May God have mercy on your pathetic souls."
May you like
The gavel cracked like a gunshot.
It was finally over.
