CHAPTER 8
In November of that same year, the high-profile criminal trial of Celeste Morgan concluded in the United States District Court in downtown Seattle.
Celeste sat at the defense table wearing a plain beige federal jumpsuit, her luxurious blonde hair dull, her eyes sunken and hollow after months in maximum-security detention.
She had attempted to plead insanity, but court-appointed psychiatric evaluators declared her completely sane, calculating, and fully aware of her criminal actions.
The jury returned a unanimous verdict of guilty on all fifteen federal counts, including premeditated attempted murder, wire fraud, grand larceny, and corporate espionage.
Judge Eleanor Vance looked down over her wire-rimmed glasses at Celeste, delivering a blistering final statement before pronouncing the ultimate penalty.
"Celeste Morgan, you displayed a sociopathic level of greed and cruelty, attempting to murder two innocent members of a grieving family to enrich yourself," Judge Vance declared sternly. "I sentence you to life in a federal penitentiary without the possibility of early parole."
Celeste collapsed against the defense table, sobbing hysterically as heavy iron shackles clanked against her ankles while federal marshals led her away through the side security door.
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She turned her head for one brief second, catching my eye in the front row of the gallery, realizing with absolute finality that she had lost everything she had ever sought to steal.
Mother reached over and gently squeezed my hand, letting out a long, quiet sigh of absolute peace as the judge struck her heavy wooden gavel to close the case forever.
