Preston Aldridge had been convicted on 14 counts.
Wire fraud, bribery, corruption of public office, conspiracy, and 10 counts of exploitation of vulnerable adults.
The sentencing hearing was today.
Emmett had been asked if he wanted to give a victim impact statement.
He'd said yes.
"Emmett Holloway?"
The bailiff called from the courtroom door.
He stood.
His hands were shaking.
Luther's hand landed on his shoulder.
Steady. Firm.
"You got this," Luther said quietly.
Emmett nodded.
What he didn't know yet was that his testimony would be the turning point.
Not just in the trial, but in his own understanding of what justice actually meant.
He walked into the courtroom.
Preston Aldridge sat at the defense table.
Orange jumpsuit, hands cuffed.
He didn't look at Emmett when the boy walked past.
Emmett walked to the podium, set his folder down, looked at the judge.
"Your Honor, my name is Emmett Holloway. I'm 16 years old. 17 months ago, Preston Aldridge signed off on an administrative correction that moved my family's housing wait list position back 200 slots. We lost our apartment. My mother got sick and ended up in county medical care. I ended up on the street."
His voice was steady.
Practiced.
He'd rehearsed this.
"For 3 weeks, I slept in parking garages and stairwells. I went hungry. I got hurt. I learned what it feels like to be invisible. To ask for help and be told no. To watch people look at me and decide I wasn't worth their time."
He paused.
Looked at his notes.
Then decided he didn't need them.
"I'm not here to tell you what sentence he deserves. That's not my job. I'm here to tell you what he took. He took my home. He took my mother's health. He took my belief that the system was designed to help people like me."
Emmett's hands tightened on the podium edge.
"But he didn't take everything. Because one night, I found a little girl whose father had collapsed. And I walked 6 miles through a storm because she kept saying 'Daddy's angels,' and I didn't know what else to do. And that walk led me to people who proved that sometimes the system fails, but people don't."
He looked at Luther in the gallery.
Luther nodded once.
"Preston Aldridge displaced 47 families over 15 years. He caused 16 vulnerable adults to disappear from county records. He stole over $1 million, and he did it all while pretending to be a community leader. While shaking hands and smiling and acting like he cared."
Emmett's voice got quieter.
"I hope you give him the maximum sentence, not because I'm angry, though I am, but because there are 13 people still missing. And every year he spends in prison is a year the FBI has to find them and make sure this never happens again."
He picked up his folder, stepped back from the podium.
"Thank you, Your Honor."
He walked back to his seat.
Nadine's hand found his, squeezed once.
The judge looked at Preston Aldridge.
"Mr. Aldridge, do you have anything you'd like to say before I pronounce sentence?"
Preston stood, slowly.
He looked thinner than he had at arraignment, older.
"Your Honor, I take full responsibility for my actions. I made terrible choices. I hurt people. I... I'm sorry."
The words were hollow.
Everyone in that room could hear it.
The judge looked at him for a long time.
Then she spoke.
"Preston Aldridge, you held a position of public trust. You were supposed to protect vulnerable families. Instead, you exploited them. You turned public housing assistance into private profit. You caused immeasurable harm to people who had no power to fight back."
She paused.