Chapter 11 — Justice, Six Years Later

When the bailiffs escorted Tao Dao into the courtroom, her right arm hung stiffly at her side, and her left leg was encased in a restrictive medical brace. As she scanned the gallery, a genuine, raw panic flickered across her face for the first time. It was not because of me; it was because every person she had once exploited and discarded to secure her own ascent was now sitting in those rows, bearing witness. As the prosecutor read the evidence against her, she interrupted repeatedly, her voice laced with desperation.

"The methods used to obtain these recordings were illegal."

"That video only captures my words at that specific moment; it does not mean my perspective did not evolve later."

"The nature of those financial transfers could be interpreted in many other ways."

The judge repeatedly warned her to maintain order, but Tao Dao simply bit her lip. When the time came for her final statement, she turned toward my father-in-law.

"Mr. Chu," she began, her voice trembling. "I admit that my handling of the situation back then was not ideal. But at that time, I had just woken up from a coma. I had no money for medical treatment, no money for school. That scholarship was my only lifeline. If I hadn't reported you, I might not even be alive today."

My father-in-law sat in the gallery, silent and unmoved. She began to weep. "You saved my life once. Can you not save me one more time?"

The judge turned to my father-in-law. "The victim has the right to express an opinion."

My father-in-law stood up. His legs were weakened from years of dialysis, and I reached out to steady him. He gently pushed my hand away, insisting on standing on his own.

"Six years ago, I saved a life that was slipping away," he said, his voice steady. "Today, what you are asking me to save is the reputation you built by destroying others. That, I will not save."

The tears on Tao Dao's face seemed to freeze. Before sitting down, my father-in-law delivered his final words: "I do not forgive you."

"The defendant, Tao Dao, is found guilty of fraud, defamation, and the unlawful acquisition of private citizen information. Combined, these offenses carry a total sentence of twelve years and six months of imprisonment."

As the sentence was pronounced, Tao Dao gripped the edge of the table. Her right hand lacked the strength to support her; she swayed, her leg brace clattering against the chair. When the bailiff moved to support her, she looked up, her expression incredulous. "Why twelve years?"

The presiding judge looked down at her. "The sentencing guidelines are clearly stated in the verdict."

"Tran Ngan only received eight years!"

"The facts of his crimes and his role in the scheme differ from yours."

"Trieu Hang was the true mastermind!"

"In the case of Chu Quoc Luong, you were the primary beneficiary and the one who fabricated the core evidence."

"I am disabled!" she cried.

"Your physical condition does not constitute a legal basis for a reduced sentence."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the cold, familiar logic she had once used against others was now being turned back upon her. Rules were rules. They did not change because she had once been poor. They did not lose their weight because she had lost the use of an arm or a stride. She turned to stare at me.

"Luc Kieu."

The bailiff ordered her to face the bench, but she kept her eyes locked on me. "Are you satisfied now?"

I did not answer. She raised her voice. "If you hadn't torn up that contract, none of what followed would have happened!"

The judge struck his gavel. "Defendant, maintain order."

As she was led out of the courtroom, Tao Dao kept looking back. Perhaps she was still waiting for a confession—waiting for me to admit that this was all a calculated act of revenge. But I said nothing. She did not lose to me; she lost to the trail of evidence she had laid for herself. Once Tran Ngan turned state's witness, the full truth of my father-in-law's old case was laid bare.

When the compensation money from the transport company was finally deposited into my father-in-law’s account, he paid off his dialysis expenses in full. He divided the remainder into two parts: one for his retirement, and the other to establish a legal aid fund for bus drivers facing emergency situations.

Lam Lam asked him, "Father, aren't you afraid you'll just end up helping another Tao Dao?"

My father-in-law was filling out the application forms. Hearing this, he paused his pen. "I am afraid."

"Then why are you still doing it?"

"Even if I am afraid, I cannot watch good people be wronged. But this time, we will keep impeccable records." He looked up at me. "Luc Kieu, check these forms for me. Is this clause on evidence preservation sufficient?"

I took the documents. "You are missing the requirement for third-party recording and archiving."

"Add it all," he said, smiling. "Having been bitten once, I have at least learned to be a bit wiser."

Lam Lam didn't smile. She lowered her head as she organized his medication, her eyes rimmed with red. My father-in-law reached out to pat her hair. "You have suffered so much these past few years."

"Don't say those things to me, Father."

"Then what should I say?"

"Say that if you continue to help people in the future, you will protect yourself first."

"Very well."

"Don't agree so quickly."

"Then I will agree slowly," he replied.

Lam Lam couldn't help but laugh. During the time I was suspended, the company underwent a comprehensive internal investigation. Trieu Hang was dismissed, and the board of directors was reorganized. Han Trac took over as the head of compliance, and the audit committee requested my return as the Vice President of Human Resources—a promotion from my previous role. I did not immediately agree. My father-in-law's case had taught me that regulations themselves are neither kind nor cruel; they are merely tools, and it is the hands that wield them that define their purpose.