Part 5: The Legal Reckoning
Nine weeks after Protocol 7 was initiated, the final legal hammer fell. The federal court convened for the sentencing of Diane and Brendan Morrison for corporate fraud and grand larceny.
I arrived at the courtroom flanked by Arthur and a small security detail. I was heavily pregnant now, radiating strength and elegance in a deep navy blue silk dress. I took my seat in the front row of the gallery.
Brendan and Diane were brought in from the holding cells. They weren't wearing designer clothes anymore; they were dressed in standard, drab blue holding uniforms. Diane looked twenty years older, her hair unkempt, her hands shaking from anxiety. When Brendan saw me, his eyes filled with a mixture of profound regret and fear.
The judge pounded the gavel.
"In the matter of the United States versus Morrison, the evidence of systemic embezzlement, falsification of corporate documents, and tax evasion is overwhelming," the judge stated, looking over his glasses at the defendants. "Furthermore, the court has reviewed the supplementary character evidence, including a sickening display of personal malice directed at the majority shareholder during a private gathering, which speaks volumes to the lack of moral compass in both defendants."
Diane started to sob loudly. "Your Honor, please! I am an old woman! I can't survive prison!"
"Silence," the judge ordered coldly. "Diane Morrison, for your role in orchestrating the fraudulent billing schemes totaling fourteen million dollars, I sentence you to eight years in a federal penitentiary, followed by three years of supervised release. All remaining assets under your name are forfeited for corporate restitution."
"No! No!" Diane screamed as the bailiffs grabbed her arms. She looked at me, her face twisted in agony. "Cassidy! Please! Tell them to stop! I'm sorry! I'm sorry about the water! I'm sorry about everything!"
I watched her being dragged away without a single flicker of emotion on my face. She had shown no mercy to a pregnant woman; she deserved none from the law.
The judge turned his gaze to Brendan. "Brendan Morrison, as the managing director who signed off on these fraudulent transactions and actively abused corporate authority, you are sentenced to twelve years in a high-security federal facility."
Brendan didn't scream like his mother. He just collapsed into his chair, staring at the ceiling as his life as a billionaire playboy officially ended forever.
Before they led him away, he asked the bailiff for permission to speak one last word to me. The bailiff looked at me, and I gave a brief, slight nod.
Brendan stood five feet away, separated by a wooden barrier and two armed guards. "Cassidy... will you ever let me see our daughter?"
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I placed my hands gently over my pregnant belly, looking him dead in the eye. "My daughter will grow up knowing her mother built an empire from nothing, and her father was just a footnote in a cautionary tale about greed. You will never see her, Brendan. You don't exist to us."
He lowered his head, tears dripping onto his prison uniform, and walked through the heavy iron doors into the dark.
