“Scream all you want!” my mother shouted. “Austin is flying to London. Nobody is coming to save you.”

Four months later.

The courtroom was packed with journalists, local business owners, and curious spectators. The trial of State v. Margaret Wentworth had become front-page news.

I sat in the front row, holding Irene’s hand. She was now seven months pregnant, wearing a beautiful floral maternity dress, her face glowing with health and happiness.

Margaret sat at the defense table in a drab orange prison jumpsuit, her hair graying and unkempt. Carla had already taken a plea deal, accepting ten years in federal prison in exchange for testifying against her mother.

The prosecutor played the video from my cell phone—the video of Margaret gripping my pregnant wife’s hair, screaming demands, while Carla smashed the safe.

The jury recoiled in visible horror.

When it was my turn to take the stand, the defense attorney tried to rattle me.

“Mr. Wentworth,” the slimy lawyer asked. “Isn't it true that your mother loved you? That she was only trying to protect your assets from a woman she believed was manipulating you?”

I leaned into the microphone, my eyes locked dead onto my mother’s pale face.

“My mother didn't love me,” I said, my voice echoing clearly through the silent courtroom. “She loved my money. She used my sister as a weapon, and she used my wife as a punching bag. She is a parasite who tried to destroy the only real family I have ever known.”

Margaret couldn't look at me. She dropped her head, weeping silently into her handcuffed hands.

The jury deliberated for less than an hour.

The verdict was unanimous.

Margaret Wentworth: Guilty of Aggravated Assault on a Pregnant Woman, Attempted Robbery, Conspiracy to Commit Fraud, and Evidence Tampering.

The judge did not hold back.

“Margaret Wentworth, your actions against your own daughter-in-law are among the most vile and sociopathic I have seen in my career,” the judge announced, slamming his gavel. “I sentence you to twenty-five years in the state penitentiary, without the possibility of early parole.”