Chapter 178
Chapter 178
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The courtroom sat hushed as Judge Hamilton entered. The wooden benches creaked with the movement of those rising to their feet. Camille felt Alexander’s hand tighten around hers as they stood. The past eight weeks of trial had led to this moment.
“Be seated,” the judge commanded, her voice filling the high–ceilinged room.
Camille lowered herself to the bench, her back straight, her face carefully blank. She had chosen to sit in the second row today,
not wanting to be directly in Rose’s line of sight.
Rose sat at the defense table in a simple navy dress, her hair pulled back in a modest style that made her look younger, more
vulnerable. A calculated choice, Camille knew. Everything about Rose was calculated.
“The jury has reached a verdict,” Judge Hamilton announced. “Bring in the defendant.”
Rose stood as the bailiff approached. Even with her wrists shackled, she moved with grace, her chin lifted. Not once during the proceedings had she shown fear or remorse. Not even when the evidence mounted day after day, witness after witness. Not even when her own words, recorded during her kidnapping of Camille, were played back to the stunned courtroom.
The jury filed in, twelve ordinary people who had listened to the extraordinary tale of jealousy and hatred that had consumed. Rose Lewis’s life. None of them looked at Rose as they took their seats. A bad sign for the defense, Camille thought distantly.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” the judge asked.
The foreman stood, a middle–aged man with tired eyes. “We have, Your Honor.”
“On the first count, attempted murder in the first degree, how do you
find?”
“We find the defendant guilty.”
A soft murmur rippled through the courtroom. Camille didn’t move, didn’t blink. Rose’s back stiffened, the only sign she had
heard.
“On the second count, kidnapping, how do you find?”
“Guilty.”
“On the third count, conspiracy to commit domestic terrorism…”
The list continued. Twenty–seven charges in all. Twenty–seven times the word “guilty” echoed through the courtroom. With each pronouncement, Camille expected to feel something, relief, satisfaction, closure. Instead, a strange emptiness spread
through her chest, as if she were watching a scene from someone else’s life.
Rose never turned around, never glanced back at the half–sister whose life she had tried to destroy. She stood perfectly still, like a
statue carved from ice, as the verdict sealed her fate.
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Judge Hamilton scheduled the sentencing for the following morning, and the bailiffs led Rose away. Only then, at the doorway,
did Rose pause and look back. Her eyes found Camille’s with unerring precision. No words were exchanged, but the message in
Rose’s gaze was clear: This changes nothing.
The courtroom emptied slowly. Reporters rushed out to file their stories. Lawyers gathered their papers. Alexander guided
Camille through the crowd, shielding her from questions shouted by journalists.
In the car, she finally spoke. “I should feel something, shouldn’t I?”
Alexander studied her face. “What do you think you should feel?”
“I don’t know. Relief? Joy? Something other than…” She gestured helplessly at her chest. “This emptiness.”
“What Rose did to you can’t be undone by a verdict,” Alexander said quietly. “No matter how many times the word ‘guilty‘ is
spoken.”
Camille turned to look out the window as the car pulled away from the courthouse. Cameras flashed outside, capturing the
moment for tomorrow’s headlines. Another chapter in the story the public couldn’t get enough of–the sister who rose from the
ashes, the sister who burned in her own hatred.
“I spent so long waiting for this,” Camille said. “First with Victoria, planning our revenge. Then with the prosecutors, building
the case. Now it’s done, and I feel…nothing.”
Alexander reached for her hand. “Maybe that’s progress.”
“How is feeling nothing progress?”
“Because revenge consumes. Justice just is.”
The words stayed with Camille through the evening, through dinner at Alexander’s penthouse where they spoke of other things,
through the quiet hours before sleep. Justice just is.
*****
Morning came too quickly. Another dark suit, another car ride to the courthouse, another walk through the gauntlet of cameras and shouted questions.
This time, Camille sat in the front row. She wanted Rose to see her, to know she wasn’t hiding.
Rose entered looking different than the day before. Gone was the modest navy dress, replaced by a red designer outfit that somehow didn’t look out of place despite her circumstances. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, and she had managed to apply makeup that made her look both innocent and striking.
Always performing, Camille thought. Always wearing the mask she thinks will serve her best.
Judge Hamilton wasted no time. After reviewing the jury’s findings, she addressed Rose directly.
“Ms. Lewis, before I pronounce sentence, you have the right to make a statement to the court. Do you wish to do so?”
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Rose stood smoothly, turning slightly so her profile was visible to the gallery, and the cameras. “Yes, Your Honor.”
The courtroom fell silent.
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“I stand before you today,” Rose began, her voice clear and steady, “convicted of crimes that were motivated by a desire to correct a great injustice.”
Murmurs rippled through the audience. Her lawyer closed his eyes briefly, as if pained. This was clearly not the statement he had
advised.
“My sister,” Rose continued, her gaze never moving toward Camille, “has always had advantages I was denied. Born to privilege while I was rescued from foster care. Treated as the golden child while I was the charity case.”
Judge Hamilton leaned forward. “Ms. Lewis, if this is an attempt to justify your actions…”
“It is an explanation, Your Honor, not a justification. I accept the jury’s verdict, but I reject the narrative that has been presented. I am not a monster. I am simply a woman who tried to claim what should have been hers.”
Camille felt Alexander’s hand on her knee, steadying her. The audacity of Rose’s statement, the complete lack of remorse, should have angered her. Instead, she felt a wave of something like pity. Rose truly believed her own lies. All these years, all these crimes, and she still saw herself as the victim.
“Are you finished, Ms. Lewis?” the judge asked, her tone making it clear she was not impressed.
“Just one more thing.” For the first time, Rose turned to face Camille directly. “I regret nothing.‘
The judge’s gavel struck sharply. “Ms. Lewis, you have shown no remorse for actions that have cost multiple lives. Your statement only confirms what the evidence has shown, that you represent a continued danger to society and particularly to your sister.”
Rose turned back to face the bench, her expression unchanged.
“It is the sentence of this court that you be confined to the maximum security women’s facility at Bedford Hills for a term of not less than fifty years without the possibility of parole.”
The gavel struck again. “Court is adjourned.”
As the bailiffs approached to lead Rose away, she turned once more toward Camille. The hatred in her eyes burned as bright as ever, undimmed by the verdict or the sentence. But something else lurked there too, a flicker of confusion, as if Rose couldn’t understand why Camille wasn’t gloating, wasn’t celebrating her downfall.
Then Rose was gone, led through the side door to begin her half–century of confinement. The spectators rose, the buzz of conversation filling the suddenly smaller–seeming room. Reporters rushed to file their updates.
“Are you okay?” Alexander asked softly.
Camille nodded, surprised to find it was true. “I am.”
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Outside, they faced the inevitable press line. Questions flew at them from all directions.
“Camille! How do you feel about the sentence?”
“Ms. Kane! Will you be pursuing civil damages?”
“Mr. Pierce! Any comment on Rose Lewis’s statement?”
Alexander held up a hand, bringing a moment of quiet. “Ms. Kane has a brief statement.”
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Camille stepped forward, feeling the weight of dozens of cameras on her. She had prepared remarks, carefully written and
memorized, about justice and closure and moving forward.
Instead, she spoke from the emptiness she had felt yesterday, which today seemed less like emptiness and more like space, room
for something new to grow.
“Justice was served today,” she said simply. “Not revenge, but justice. That’s the difference that matters.”
With that, she stepped back, allowing Alexander to guide her through the crowd to their waiting car.
“That wasn’t what we practiced,” he said once they were inside.
“No,” Camille agreed. “It was better.”
As the car pulled away from the courthouse, Camille looked back at the imposing building one last time. Inside those walls, her
past had been laid bare, examined, judged. Rose would spend the rest of her life paying for what she had done.
But Camille wouldn’t spend the rest of her life defining herself by it.
“You were right,” she said to Alexander.
“About what?”
“About feeling nothing being progress.” She turned from the window to face him. “When Victoria first took me in, all I could feel
was pain and rage. She taught me to channel that into revenge. But revenge would have kept me tied to Rose forever.”
Alexander nodded, waiting for her to continue.
“Today, watching her, I realized something. Rose is still consumed by hatred. It’s all she has left. But I’m free of it.” Camille
looked down at her hands, surprised to find them steady. “I don’t need to hate her anymore. I don’t need to fear her. I don’t need
to think about her at all.”
Alexander reached across the seat, taking her hand in his. “That’s not emptiness, Camille. That’s peace.”
The word settled over her like a warm blanket. Peace. Not the fiery triumph Victoria had promised her revenge would bring. Not
the bitter satisfaction of seeing her enemy fall. Something quieter, deeper, more lasting.
Camille leaned her head against Alexander’s shoulder as the car carried them away from the courthouse, away from Rose, away
from the past.
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Justice had been served. And it was enough.
