Chapter 13 - The Wire and the Glass
The Dirksen Federal Building was swarming with press, federal agents, and syndicate watchers when our motorcade arrived on Thursday morning.
Flashes exploded like strobe lights against the black tinted windows of our SUV.
“Hannah! Is it true Caleb Vale is completely incapacitated?”
“Is the Vale empire collapsing?”
“Are you controlling the heir?”
Caleb stepped out of the vehicle first.
He didn't slouch. He didn't hide his face. Standing at six-foot-two, his broad shoulders squared and his chin held high, he radiated absolute power. He turned and offered his hand to me, helping me step out onto the pavement before the flashing cameras.
We walked through the metal detectors and into Courtroom 2104.
Judge Harrison Vance sat on the bench, looking smug, his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose. In the jury box sat three court-appointed psychiatrists, looking visibly uneasy.
In the front row of the gallery, surrounded by federal marshals, sat Dominic Vale.
He was wearing an orange prison jumpsuit, his hands cuffed to a belly chain. His face was gaunt, his hair unkempt, but his eyes still held that psychotic, desperate arrogance. When he saw me walk in beside Caleb, Dominic bared his teeth like an animal behind bars.
“This hearing will come to order,” Judge Vance announced, banging his gavel. “We are here to determine the mental competency of Caleb Vale regarding the execution of the Vale Family Estate trust.”
Dominic’s lead attorney stood up, clearing his throat. “Your Honor, we submit that Caleb Vale lacks the neurological and verbal capacity to comprehend the complex legal and fiduciary responsibilities of this estate. He is entirely dependent on Miss Hannah Mercer, who has manipulated his condition for personal enrichment.”
“Lies!” a voice cried from the gallery, but Vance banged his gavel again.
“The court calls Caleb Vale to the stand,” Vance said coldly. “Let us see if the young man can answer basic jurisdictional questions.”
I felt a surge of ice water in my veins. This was the trap. Vance intended to ask complex, rapid-fire questions, declare Caleb non-responsive, and issue the conservatorship order on the spot.
I walked with Caleb toward the witness stand.
“The interpreter may take her position beside the witness,” Vance said, waving his hand dismissively. “Mr. Vale, place your left hand on the Bible and raise your right hand.”
Caleb did so, his hand steady as granite.
The bailiff swore him in.
Judge Vance leaned forward, peering down from his bench with unconcealed disdain. “Mr. Vale, do you understand where you are today? Do you understand the nature of these proceedings?”
The courtroom fell into pin-drop silence. Dominic leaned forward in his chair, a cruel grin spreading across his face. He was waiting for his son to stare blankly, to rock on his heels, to embarrass himself before the world.
Caleb looked at Judge Vance.
Then, he looked at me.
I raised my hands to translate. But Caleb didn't wait for my signs.
He reached up, adjusted the microphone on the witness stand, took a deep, measured breath, and looked directly into the cameras broadcasting the feed to the press room.
Then, in a deep, commanding, baritone voice—rough from disuse, but crystal clear and devastatingly powerful—Caleb Vale spoke to the world:
May you like
“I understand perfectly, Your Honor.”
***