Chapter 10 - Extradition and Public Exposure
Forty-eight hours later, the extradition transport van arrived at the Manhattan Criminal Court on Centre Street.
A blizzard was blowing through New York City, dusting the granite courthouse steps with a layer of gray slush. Despite the freezing wind, a swarm of over fifty journalists, paparazzi, and enraged local mothers clutching signs reading *JUSTICE FOR MAYA AND BABY LIAM* stood barricaded behind metal crowd control gates.
The back doors of the armored police van swung open.
Evelyn Vance was the first to be led out.
She was shackled at the wrists and ankles, wearing a bright orange Department of Corrections jumpsuit beneath a cheap gray thermal jacket. The glamour of South Beach had been completely stripped away. Her face was gaunt, sunken, her hair oily and graying at the roots, her eyes wild with terrified humiliation.
The moment her foot touched the pavement, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar of boos, jeers, and flashing camera strobes.
"Monster!" a woman in the front row screamed, shaking a baby bottle filled with fake red liquid. "How could you starve an infant?!"
"Evelyn! Look here! Did you plan to let Maya die?!" a reporter from the *Post* shouted, thrusting a microphone over the police barricade.
Evelyn tried to duck her head, trying to hide her face behind her shackled hands, but the heavy steel chains clanked loudly, preventing her from concealing her shame. She stumbled on the icy step, almost falling forward before a burly court officer caught her by the arm and yanked her upright.
Behind her came Chloe.
The once-proud influencer was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe, her hands trembling violently inside her handcuffs. She kept her chin tucked tightly against her chest, her shoulders shaking, as cameras flashed relentlessly in her face.
"Chloe! Any comment on losing all your sponsors?!"
"Chloe! Was the champagne worth twenty years?!"
Mark Davis followed, his face drawn in a furious, panicked grimace, cursing at the photographers while an officer pushed him firmly forward.
I stood at the top of the courthouse steps, beside Sarah Vance and Detective Miller.
I was wearing a dark charcoal coat, my hands resting calmly in my pockets.
As Evelyn was marched up the final flight of stairs toward the security checkpoint, she looked up.
Our eyes locked.
For a fraction of a second, I saw a flicker of her old, manipulative arrogance return to her eyes. She opened her mouth, her voice cracking through the bitter cold air:
"David! Tell them! Tell these animals to let us go! I am your mother!"
I didn't say a word.
I didn't blink. I didn't show anger, hatred, or sorrow.
I looked through her as if she were made of cheap, dirty glass—a total stranger whose existence held no more weight than the slush melting beneath my boots.
The court officers shoved the revolving doors open and marched her inside.
The heavy glass shut, cutting off her voice forever.
"Grand jury returned a true bill an hour ago," Sarah Vance whispered beside me, handing me a sealed copy of the indictment. "Thirty-two counts across the three of them. Because Liam is an infant and Maya was physically incapacitated from major surgery, the DA added vulnerable victim enhancements to every single charge. The minimum sentencing guidelines start at fifteen years without parole."
"And the bail hearing?" I asked.
"Bail is set for 2:30 p.m.," Sarah said, a cold, predatory smile touching her lips. "The prosecutor is requesting remand without bail. Flight risk, extreme cruelty, interstate flight, and active evidence of attempted witness intimidation."
"Will they get out?"
Sarah looked up at the gray Manhattan sky and chuckled softly.
May you like
"David, after that viral video and the hospital records? A judge would have to be suicidal to sign their release. They are staying in Rikers Island until the day they get shipped to upstate maximum security."
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