My attorney inclines his head. Barely perceptible.
“I have also considered the defendant’s lack of prior criminal history and her cooperation with the investigation. That said, the nature of the offense requires a clear response from this court.”
The judge folds his hands atop the dark wood.
“The sentence imposed is ten months of custody.”
For a suspended second, panic takes my body. I break into a cold sweat.Ten more months.
My attorney’s hand brushes my arm.
“However,” the judge says, not missing a beat, “with credit for time served, your sentence is considered finished.”
Time served. I can finally breathe.
“Nonetheless, release will not be immediate. The remaining sixty days shall be served in a residential reentry center, a halfway house, for monitored reintegration, pursuant to Bureauof Prisons protocol. Following final release, the defendant shall be subject to three years of supervised release.”
Now he looks directly at me.
“As a mandatory condition, the defendant shall engage in continuous therapy and submit monthly reports to her probation officer. The court finds that the dismantling of the defendant’s established behavioral patterns and defense mechanisms is essential to rehabilitation.”
Rehabilitation. Easier said than done, but if it’s the cost to leave the shithole… I’m in.
“During this period, the defendant is prohibited from serving, directly or indirectly, in any executive or fiduciary capacity—including consulting, brokerage, or access to corporate data—for a period of eight years.”
Eight fucking years. It’s not prison, but it’s an exile all the same. For someone like me who was just starting a career, it’s the death of any plan or chance I could have had.
“A monetary fine shall also be imposed in the amount reflected in the record.”
The number passes through me without impact. At this point, money is symbolic. Jonathan will handle it.
“Any violation of these conditions will result in immediate return to federal custody. You are dismissed.”
I’m escorted out, but not the way I was before. No cuffs or hands forcing my back. I walk on legs that don’t yet trust the ground beneath them.
Two months.In two months, I am free. But I won’t return as who I was. And maybe that is the real sentence.
December
My world is now reduced to a humiliating checklist: sign the logbook, attend mandatory counseling where I nod at the correct moments, obey a curfew that treats me like a delinquent teenager instead of a grown woman. I sleep in a room with three strangers.
I’m required to look for work, but only positions that don’t violate the judge’s eight-year ban on my career, as if I could accidentally wander back into power by shelving boxes or refilling coffee urns. So I hunt for jobs beneath my skill set and education. Jobs designed to keep me busy, and that won’t take me anywhere in life.
Time drags here. All that’s left is the noise in my head.
All these months of my life, wasted trading one hellhole for another—with so little information filtering in from the outside—have made one thing impossible to keep dismissing: how much I lost. Pouring my time, life, and energy into something that stripped everything from me was a stupid choice. I should have been smarter than that.
Iamsmarter than that. But I’d be lying if I said I regret it. I would do it all again.
I just wouldn’t perform. I would make Colin fall in love with me. I would make him choose me for who I am, not for the version I curated to fit his expectations.
Thinking about him hurts. Thinking about Phillip hurts even more. Maybe that’s my pattern. The men who kissed my feet never held my interest. The men I idealized discarded me like yesterday’s news.
But it was losing the last pieces of my family that hurt more than anything, especially when even they gave up on me.
Uncle Thomas and Chloe visited me during my first week in prison. Aunt Cynthia didn’t, and I don’t blame her. I was feral with them. Out of control.“If you’re not here to tell me you’repaying for a real lawyer, don’t bother coming back,”I spat through the glass.
Chloe only shook her head. My uncle had tears in his eyes when he turned away. He wished me luck. Said he hoped whatever I’d done had been worth it.It wasn’t.
