Chapter 13 - The Fall of Charles
The press conference outside the San Francisco Federal Building took place the following afternoon under a sea of flashing strobe lights and television satellite vans.
Charles Vance was led down the granite steps in full view of the national media, his wrists locked in front of him, flanked by federal marshals and IRS Criminal Investigation agents. The newly recovered reservoir files had triggered a massive thirty-count federal indictment charging him with racketeering, political bribery, and environmental contamination.
"Mr. Vance! Did you order the sabotage of rival vineyards?" a reporter shouted.
"Did you knowingly poison local runoff lines?" another barked.
Charles didn't answer. He kept his chin tucked against his chest, refusing to look at the dozens of cameras capturing his ultimate downfall.
Across the perimeter barricade, Eleanor was surrounded by reporters as she tried to flag down a city bus, clutching a paper grocery bag containing the few personal clothes she was legally allowed to keep. The woman who had sneered across my dinner table about antique dressing rooms was now homeless, friendless, and destitute on the streets of downtown San Francisco.
Marcus Hayes stood beside me on the sidewalk, watching the broadcast live on his tablet.
"The federal court just appointed Maya and Rebecca as chief administrators of the Vance victims' restitution fund," Marcus said, turning off the screen. "Every acre of land seized through Charles's illegal schemes will be returned to the original farming families."
"And the rest?" I asked.
"The remaining assets have been rolled into your commercial trust. You're now running the largest independent sustainable agricultural cooperative in Northern California."
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I took a deep breath of the crisp coastal air, feeling the weight of the last three years finally lifting off my shoulders.
"Let's go plant something real," I said.
