Chapter 9 - The Court of Martial and Sovereign Justice
Six months later.
The United States District Court for the Eastern District of Virginia was packed to maximum capacity. Federal marshals stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the perimeter walls, while reporters from every major national news outlet leaned forward in their benches, pens scratching furiously across legal pads.
At the defense table sat Mary Bennett. Her immaculate silver hair was gone, replaced by a tangled, unwashed mane of gray. The camel-hair coat had been exchanged for the bright orange jumpsuit of an inmate at the Northern Neck Regional Jail. Beside her sat Beckett, his shoulders permanently hunched, his eyes fixed on the wood grain of the table, looking like a ghost whose soul had been extracted months ago.
At the prosecution table sat the United States Attorney, flanked by Major Miller and the lead federal prosecutor for the Department of Justice’s National Security Division.
And on the witness stand sat Colonel Claire Bennett.
She was the picture of unyielding strength. Her neck was completely healed, showing not the slightest hint of the violent bruises that had once threatened her life. Her eyes were sharp, dark, and unwavering as she looked directly at the jury box.
On the courtroom’s massive digital display screens, the evidence was laid bare.
The audio recording played through the chamber’s high-fidelity speakers. The jury listened in stunned, horrified silence to Mary Bennett’s crystalline, cold instruction: *"Hit her where the bruises can be covered by a collar. Not the face this time, Beckett."*
Two jurors visibly shuddered. Another covered her mouth in disgust.
The prosecution methodically entered the remaining exhibits: the cloned biometric tokens, the offshore escrow accounts in Zurich showing the forty-million-dollar wire transfers from Marcus Sterling’s shell companies, and the intercepted cargo containers of thermal guidance microchips seized at the Port of Norfolk before they could clear international waters.
When the prosecution rested, the defense attorney—a court-appointed public defender, as every private attorney Mary had contacted had dropped her the moment federal treason charges were filed—stood up, looked at his clients, and whispered something to Mary.
Mary looked at Claire. For the first time in her life, the aristocratic arrogance in Mary’s eyes was gone. In its place was a bottomless, paralyzing terror. She looked at the woman she had tried to chemically lobotomize and realized she was staring into the face of her executioner.
The jury deliberated for less than ninety minutes.
When the foreperson stood to read the verdict, the courtroom fell dead silent.
"On Count One: Conspiracy to Commit Espionage against the United States. We find the defendant, Mary Vance Bennett, GUILTY. We find the defendant, Beckett Thomas Bennett, GUILTY."
"On Count Two: Aggravated Felony Assault and Attempted Murder resulting in Bodily Harm. We find the defendant, Beckett Thomas Bennett, GUILTY."
"On Count Three: Wire Fraud and Aggravated Identity Theft. We find both defendants GUILTY."
"On Count Four: Conspiracy to Commit Civil and Medical Fraud. We find both defendants GUILTY on all counts."
Beckett’s forehead hit the defense table with a dull thud. He began to wail, a broken, pathetic sound that was quickly silenced by a marshal placing an iron grip on his shoulder. Mary simply closed her eyes, her pale lips trembling as the realization of her new reality settled into her bones.
Judge Robert Vance—no relation to Mary’s disgraced brother—leaned over the bench, his eyes burning with absolute contempt.
"In my thirty-two years on the federal bench," the judge declared, his voice reverberating through the chamber like thunder, "I have rarely witnessed a crime of such calculated, sociopathic cruelty. You did not merely seek to enrich yourselves through the treasonous sale of vital national security hardware; you attempted to systematically dismantle the mind, body, and honor of a decorated senior officer of the United States Armed Forces. You sought to weaponize our legal and medical institutions to erase her from existence."
The judge slammed his gavel down.
"Mary Vance Bennett: I sentence you to thirty-five years at the Federal Correctional Institution, Aliceville, without eligibility for parole."
Mary let out a choking gasp, slumping sideways into her chair.
"Beckett Thomas Bennett: For the charges of treason, attempted murder, and aggravated felony assault, I sentence you to forty years at the United States Penitentiary, Pollock. You will serve every single day of that sentence in maximum-security custody."
The gavel struck the sounding block like a rifle shot.
"Adjourn."
Marshals moved in instantly. Beckett was hauled to his feet, crying uncontrollably, his legs dragging along the carpet as they pulled him toward the prisoner transport door. He looked back over his shoulder, searching frantically for Claire.
"Claire! Claire, please! Look at me!" he screamed.
May you like
Claire didn't look. She didn't turn her head. She stood up from the witness stand, buttoned her dress jacket, and saluted the American flag standing behind the judge’s bench.
***
