Chapter 44 - The Geneva Tribunal
The Great Hall of Justice was circular, constructed of polished black obsidian that mirrored the pale winter light filtering through the domed skylight above. Twelve judges, dressed in midnight-blue robes trimmed with silver ermine, sat high upon an elevated dais. Below them, in the center of the obsidian floor, sat three brass podiums: one for the defense, one for the High Custodian, and one for the sovereign claimant.
Mark sat behind me in the gallery, flanked by armed guards, but his eyes never left mine, lending me the courage I desperately needed. Clara was held in a secure, glass-enclosed anteroom overseen by Council nurses, completely shielded from the bitter drama unfolding in the hall.
"Case 409-B," the Chief Magistrate intoned, striking an ivory gavel that rang out like a gunshot. "The Succession of the Vance-Montgomery Sovereign Trust. The accused: Eleanor Vance Montgomery. The claimant: Sarah Vance, on behalf of the infant Clara Vance."
The charges were read aloud in rapid, chilling detail: high financial conspiracy, unauthorized deployment of paramilitary assets, fabrication of legal warrants, and attempted unlawful abduction of a sovereign heir.
Eleanor stood at her podium, her lawyer—a trembling, sweating man from Zurich—shuffling through piles of meaningless affidavits. When it was Eleanor's turn to speak, she did not apologize. She gripped the brass rail with white knuckles and pointed a trembling, manic finger at me.
"Sarah is an unfit mother!" Eleanor proclaimed, her voice shrill, echoing off the obsidian walls. "She married a commoner, a man without pedigree or capital! She fled our estate like a criminal! She has consistently exhibited emotional instability! If you place the sovereign trust into her hands, the entire trade syndicate will be dismantled by wolves!"
Murmurs rippled through the twelve judges. Several leaned forward, whispering behind leather dossiers. My heart skipped a beat. Even here, shackled and disgraced, Eleanor’s venomous eloquence possessed a dangerous, persuasive malice.
"Is that your entire testimony, Madame Montgomery?" the Chief Magistrate asked coldly.
"No!" Eleanor smirked, turning a triumphant, vicious glare toward me. "I submit into evidence Exhibit Omega: the private medical records from the private clinic in Denver. Proof that Sarah's daughter does not possess the unbroken genetic markers required by the 1968 Treaty! The child is illegitimate under Council law!"
A heavy, suffocating silence descended over the great hall. I felt the air leave my lungs. Mark rose out of his seat in the gallery, only for two guards to block his path with crossed pikes.
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"What is she talking about?" I whispered, looking toward Richter in terror.
Richter did not blink. He stepped forward to the High Custodian’s podium, holding a sealed wax envelope bearing the original imperial seal of 1968. "The defense's exhibit is a fabrication, Lord Magistrates. And I have the true archive to prove it."
