Sinclair (Acquisition Series) (4 page)

I clutched my hands in front of me, humbleness in every calculated movement. “Mr. Rousseau, I’m Sinclair Vinemont, the parish prosecutor. We’ve met before—”

“I know who you are.” His snarl, though understandable, did not play well to the jury. Two of the ladies on the back row shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“You remember meeting Mrs. Caldwell?” I motioned to the elderly woman with the tennis balls attached to her walker. She sat in the front row, her aged face in a permanent frown.

Mr. Rousseau, sweat beading along his upper lip, nodded. “Yes.”

“You told her to invest in Mirabella, a tenants-in-common product?”

“Yes.”

I turned to the jury, affecting a teaching tone. “Tenants-in-common means that several investors go in together to buy a property, one that is usually fully leased and provides steady income via rent payments and increase in value in the property market. Is that correct, Mr. Rousseau?”

“Yes.”

“Mirabella was a good investment for Mrs. Caldwell?”

“Yes.” His tone turned warier with each affirmative response.

“It would provide steady income to pay her living expenses?”

“Yes.”

“Especially when the housing market is on an upswing, like now?”

“Yes.”

“So.” I turned to the jury. “It was a highly suitable and wise investment?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t invest her money into Mirabella, did you, Mr. Rousseau?”

He swallowed hard and looked away.

“Mr. Rousseau, did you invest her money into Mirabella?”

“I-I…”

“It’s a simple yes or no answer. Which is it?”

His watery eyes fell. “No.”

“You told her you did?”

“Yes.”

“But you actually put that money into another account?”

“Yes.”

“An interest-bearing account with your name on it?”

“Yes, but I was going to transfer her investment—”

“You never put her money in any other investment, did you?”

“No, but I was going to.” He talked quickly. “I was waiting until the market bounce—”

“Mrs. Caldwell never received a dime of interest?”

“No. But if you’d just let me explain. She’d been in a series of annuities that actually depleted her principal at a far faster rate. I would have transferred her money over into the Mirabella accounts once I received all of her principal from the annuity companies, but you froze my accounts before I had the chance.”

“I see.” I nodded as if I agreed with his assessment. “So, you were trying to help Mrs. Caldwell?”

“Yes.” He surveyed the jurors, trying to make eye contact with each one.

“Are you aware of a rule for financial advisors, like yourself, that states any commingling of funds results in a total disbarment?”

“Yes, but—”

“And isn’t it true that you were barred from working as a financial advisor by the financial regulatory agency three months ago?”

He turned his gaze toward me. “Because of you. Because you testified to all these lies about me. I did nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong? Didn’t you just admit to putting Mrs. Caldwell’s money into your personal account?”

“Yes, but—”

“Do you remember the first time you met Mr. Calgary?” I pointed to an elderly man in a wheelchair who glared at Mr. Rousseau.

Mrs. Caldwell, Mr. Calgary, Mrs. Green, Mr. Bradley, Mr. Hess, Mr. Graves, Mrs. Oppen, Mr. Travis—I went through each elderly victim, each transaction, each instance of misappropriation. Mr. Rousseau had an excuse each time I pointed out that their funds always wound up in his personal accounts. By the end of my cross examination, several of the jurors leaned back with their arms crossed. They didn’t believe him, were repulsed by him, just like I was.

When I finished, and Mr. Rousseau’s excuses finally died out, I turned to the judge. “The State rests, Your Honor, but we would move for a judgment of guilt as a matter of law, given Mr. Rousseau’s own testimony here today.”

“Mr. Rousseau, you may step down.” Judge Montagnet looked to Mr. Rousseau’s counsel table. “You have anything to say about that?”

The mediocre attorney stood and bumbled with his file. “I, uh, I object and move for a judgment of acquittal.”

“Both motions denied. I’ll let the jury have it.” He peered at his wrist watch.

“It’s quarter to four, Judge.”

“Thank you, Counsellor Vinemont.” He shook his head. “These old eyes can’t quite see how they used to. I’ll go ahead and charge the jury and let them begin deliberations.”

I strode to my table, giving Stella a long look as I walked. She tried to school her features, but it didn’t work. Venom, rage, and pain were writ large across her pale face. I savored every bit of emotion that skittered off her like sparks.

The judge instructed the jury concerning the elements of each charge and how they should go about making their decision. Then he sent them to deliberate. As soon as the last juror left the room, Stella rushed through the swinging wooden door and hugged her father. Dylan followed and put his meaty hand on Stella’s back.

I sized him up again. He was big, but I’d killed bigger with nothing more than my bare hands. The way he touched her set something off inside me. I didn’t know what. It was as if a slimy eel swirled in my stomach. It mixed with the one feeling I could recognize with ease—hatred.

“Come on, Dad. Let’s get some air.”

I smiled. “Yes, take him outside while you still can. He won’t be a free man for much longer.” The elderly people seated behind me mumbled and grunted in agreement.

Stella whirled and took a step toward me. Her fine hands were fisted, and I could sense how badly she wanted to hurt me. My cold blood heated a degree or two, and a flash of me yanking up her skirt and bending her over the counsel table went straight to my cock.

Taking a deep breath, she un-balled her fists and stretched her paint-stained fingers out straight. She must have thought better of going toe-to-toe with me. Too bad. She turned and took her father’s elbow. Dylan sneered as he walked past, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of even looking in his direction.

I kept the image of Stella in my mind, relishing the way her hate kept me warm.

The jury returned in less than an hour.

They filed in one by one, and the foreman handed the judge their verdict. The jurors wouldn’t meet Mr. Rousseau’s eyes. Their verdict couldn’t have been more obvious.

“All rise.” The bailiff’s voice brought the courtroom to its feet as Judge Montagnet skimmed down the verdict form, his mouth moving with silent words.

“I think everything is in order here.” The judge handed the verdict form back to the foreman, who returned to the jury box. “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have, Your Honor,” the foreman responded.

“Please read it aloud.”

The foreman cleared his throat and shot a quick look to Mr. Rousseau. “We, the jury, find Leon Rousseau guilty on all counts.”

Sighs and murmurs of approval erupted from the gallery. Mr. Rousseau sank into his chair, and Stella rushed up and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Daddy, it’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” Her fervent whisper was a lie. I would make sure of that.

“Would you like me to poll the jury?” Judge Montagnet asked.

“Not for the State, Your Honor.” I buttoned my suit jacket and stepped around the counsel table.

“Defense?”

“No, Your Honor.”

He turned to the jury. “In that case, you all are free to go. Thank you for your service.” Judge Montagnet banged his gavel, and the crowd at my back grew loud with chatter.

The jurors filed out of the box. I shook each one’s hand as they passed and assured them they’d done the right thing. They smiled and nodded, because I was telling them exactly what they wanted to hear.

Once I’d shaken all their hands, I walked into the gallery and received pats on the back and ‘bless you’s’ from the teary victims. I figured I’d have to burn this suit after all the touching. These people disgusted me only slightly less than Mr. Rousseau, but I slapped on what I knew was a pleasant smile and accepted their congratulations and grimy thanks.

The victims eventually cleared out of the gallery and headed toward the courthouse elevator. The room emptied until only the defendant, Stella, Dylan, and I remained.

Stella hadn’t shed a tear even as her father turned into a blubbering mess. Dylan tried to comfort him with nonsense like ‘appeal’ and ‘they can’t do this’. Mr. Rousseau would be long dead before his appeal was ever heard.

I should have left. Then again, I’d never been one to pass up a final twist of the knife. I walked around the table to face all three of them.

“I’ll have Judge Montagnet bump your sentencing up to next week. That way you can start serving your time as soon as possible. It’ll give you a better chance of getting out before you die. Though, sorry to say, that is still quite unlikely.”

Mr. Rousseau’s blubbering increased.

“Do you lack even a shred of decency?” Stella’s accusation missed the mark, given I had quite a bit more decency than anyone on her side of the table.

“I was only trying to be helpful.” I smirked.

She straightened her back, the dark gray of her skirt suit giving her eyes a steely quality. “You’re a bully. A menace parading as a saint. I see right through you.”

“As you keep telling me. But, I don’t think the jury had the same vision.”

“Sin?” Judge Montagnet called through the door to his chambers.

Stella’s mouth compressed into a thin line, and Dylan edged closer to her.

“Coming, Judge,” I called. “I’ll see you all next week. Don’t be late, Mr. Rousseau. You’re still out on bond for now. Just keep in mind that I’ll have Sheriff Wood drag you up here if I have to.” I gave Stella a congenial smile and turned on my heel, walking straight back to the judge’s chambers.

“I see you.” Her voice wafted to my ears as the door swung closed behind me.

CHAPTER SIX

“
C
AN
I
COME?”
T
EDDY
plopped down on my bed.

I smoothed my button-down shirt, though it had already been ironed to crisp perfection. “No.”

“Why not?” He tossed a baseball in the air and caught it. Tossed it again, missed it, and it hit himself in the nose.

I laughed as he cursed and rolled back and forth on my bed. “Good one, Ted.”

If there was one bright spot in my dark existence, it was my youngest brother. Somehow, my fucked up family hadn’t managed to erase whatever spark he kept inside. Did I ever have a spark?

“Shut up.” He pinched his nose and winced, his voice coming out as a nasal whine. “Why can’t I go?”

“Because you weren’t invited. Besides, it’s at Cal’s house.”

He grimaced. “Never mind. I’m glad I wasn’t invited.”

“Was I invited?” Lucius strode in and took the ball from Teddy.

“That’s mine.”

“Not anymore.” Lucius threw it up and caught it right above Teddy’s crotch.

“Not cool, man.” Teddy scowled.

“No, what wouldn’t have been cool is if I hadn’t caught it.”

“You two are dicks. I’m going to my room.” Teddy stood and gingerly touched his nose.

“You’re still pretty. Get over it.” Lucius took Teddy’s spot on my bed.

“I’ll see you when I get back, Ted. Okay?” I smiled at him in the mirror. I couldn’t tell if I was faking it or not.

He returned it, so perhaps it had been genuine after all. “Yeah. See you later.”

“Don’t worry, little bro.” Lucius grinned. “I’ll be here to take care of you, wipe your ass, rub on the baby lotion, hold your dick when you piss—all that.” Teddy flipped him off and walked down the hall.