The Rediff US Special/Suleman Din

People who knew Lakireddy Bali Reddy would talk about the different man they saw at times.

There was Reddy the acclaimed restaurateur. Reddy the shrewd and prosperous real estate mogul. Reddy the swaggering near-demigod. But for the first time, a new man was unmasked for all to see on Wednesday: Reddy the repentant.

Having pleaded guilty to charges that he smuggled Indians from his Andhra Pradesh village into the US for cheap labor, and village girls to be his sex slaves, the humbled, tired man choked on his final statement to US District Court Judge Saundra Armstrong.

"I want to apologize to you, to the court, to my family," he said in a muffled, hurt voice. "... I am very, very sorry .. please excuse me." He wiped his eyes with a tissue, and as he did so, others cried too.

His son Vijay Lakireddy put his hands in his face and wept, bowing in anguish as if someone punched him in the stomach. Across the courtroom, Nalini Shekar, a counselor who has been with Reddy's teen victims for the past year-and-a-half, shook as she cried with joy.

Reddy's appearance at the US Federal Court in downtown Oakland was an anticlimactic one. Observers knew last Friday that, as part of a pre-trial plea agreement, he would admit his guilt. Reddy is now in custody, facing a possible seven years in prison without parole and ordered to pay $ 2 million in restitution to his victims.

What surprised Reddy's opponents was his tearful submission. To them, it symbolized that the mighty had fallen, and that justice for the weak had prevailed at last.

"The important thing today is that Reddy has been unmasked as a violent criminal offender," said a triumphant Jayashri Srikantiah, counsel with the American Civil Liberties Union. "For 15 years he has been bringing girls into the US for cheap labor and sex, and claimed that he was an honest businessman," she continued. "Today those claims are unmasked as lies."

"When they hear this, it will make them very happy," Shekar said wistfully of the victims, whose identities are being protected. "They will be encouraged to know that they can now get on with their lives."

The sighs of relief can be heard from the South Asian community in San Francisco's Bay Area as well. Reddy is an uncomfortable reminder to those who pride themselves on Indian accomplishment in Silicon Valley that a dark side of the American Dream exists too, of sex, money and power.

Ironically, the 63-year-old man came in 1961 to the US to study, like so many other NRIs chasing after American success. Reddy completed his masters in chemical engineering at University of California at Berkeley.

But he left chemistry for real estate, and built an empire of more than 1,000 rental units in the East Bay Area. His properties today are worth more than $ 50 million, and he collects more than $ 1 million in rent from tenants each month, not counting income from his commercial properties or his Pasand restaurants in Berkeley and Santa Clara.

Reddy used this wealth to wield almost god-like influence over his native village of Velvadam, near Vijawada in Andhra Pradesh. Locals revered the man who would build schools, colleges, bus stands and temples, and offer them the chance to come to work under him in America.

In return, locals told rediff previously, Reddy would pick village girls to come back with him to America.

In a twist of fate, two such girls were found unconscious in an apartment owned by him. Chanti Prattipati, 17, and her younger sister were overcome by carbon monoxide poisoning on November 24, 1999. Chanti, whom the police say was 10 days pregnant with Reddy's child, died. Her sister, though, survived.

Newspapers reported the story, but two high school students asked why the girl wasn't in school. Their story, and anonymous tips, led to an investigation of Reddy and his arrest last year on January 14.

After the news of his arrest broke, protests and candlelight vigils were regular outside Pasand, the popular Berkeley restaurant the family owns. Opponents called him a village overlord and accused him of being involved in "sexual slavery."

But Reddy never came forward to address these taunts and accusations. Instead, he remained hidden from the public eye, under house arrest at his cardiologist brother's house in Merced.

So it was a bit unnerving for this reporter to find himself sitting next to Reddy -- the object of so many stories, the man behind a four-inch-thick file of press clippings -- as he waited for the hearing to begin.

Reddy had come to the courtroom dressed in a crisp blue suit, crimson tie and black loafers, a departure from the rumpled gray suit and sneakers he had worn the other day.

He looked at me, awkwardly, as he approached the gallery's front bench. I saw him stare at me before in previous hearings, possibly wondering who I was. But this time, as he sat down, he looked at my notebook, and must have understood why I was there.

He said nothing, and got up only moments later. His attorneys motioned for him, and he went to the front. They pushed documents in front of him, and he pulled out his glasses and pen, and signed his freedom away.

The first matter at hand was to resolve a legality that thwarted his plea from being entered on Monday. The defence and prosecution wanted Judge Armstrong to allow Reddy to remain on bail until his sentencing date; the reason being that it would be easier for Reddy to liquidate his assets to pay for the $ 2 million in restitution outside of jail.

But because Reddy was charged with a violent offence, Judge Armstrong said the law required him to be placed in custody as soon as he plead guilty to it. She asked both sides to submit briefs on Monday explaining why she should let him stay out on bail. (Reddy was out on a $ 10 million bail).

On Wednesday, Judge Armstrong declared she was not persuaded by their arguments. The defence suggested alternatives, but Judge Armstrong said she couldn't challenge the law. It was clear that Reddy would have to go to prison. It was the sole victory that Reddy sought, and he lost it.

The two sides left the courtroom to discuss what to do next, leaving Reddy alone. He got up, drank some water, and after waiting for a while, walked over to the clerk by the judge's bench. Immediately, his attorney came after him, scolding him, pointing him back to his seat.

The lawyers returned, quiet. Jayaprakash, who pleaded guilty on Monday to charges of smuggling immigrants, was called from the gallery by Reddy's attorneys.

Vijay Lakireddy was also present in the court, and took the same spot next to me where his father sat only an hour ago. But he remained beside me, his pensive eyes watery and red. He too will appear in front of a judge, charged with helping his father get the young girls in the first place. But unlike his father, Vijay eschewed the plea bargain, and maintains his innocence.

He watched as his father handed over his belongings to Jayaprakash. 'Jay' hugged Reddy, and shook his hand.

It was time.

Judge Armstrong read Reddy his rights. She asked for his age, his education, if he had any medication. Reddy replied he was 63, has a masters in chemistry from UC Berkeley, and takes beta blockers for blood pressure.

She asked if he was in any pain. He paused.

"Stress, maybe, not pain," he said.

His response got a giggle from a reporter behind me, and Vijay immediately shot her an angry stare.

Judge Armstrong outlined what Reddy was facing: one count of conspiracy to bring illegal immigrants into the US, two counts of transporting minors for sex, and one count of tax evasion. In total, the maximum sentence would be 23 years.

However, she said he would likely face seven years in jail when he is sentenced on April 10, in accordance with the plea bargain; that the Alameda district attorney wouldn't press criminal charges, saving him from even further jail time; that he wouldn't be called as witness in the trials of his sons Vijay and Prasad.

She then broke down the restitution: $ 750,000 to 'Victim 1', $ 750,000 to be split between 'Victim 2' and her family, and $ 500,000 to 'Victim 4'.

Vijay listened, and gave a cynical laugh. But his bravado turned to anger and despair when the prosecution read what their evidence would have shown, if the matter had gone to trial.

That Reddy brought 25 illegal immigrants over 15 years into the US for slave labor. That he brought Chanti Pratipati and her sister over to the US, intending to have sex with them. That he brought over 'Victim 4,' who was 11 at the time, intending to have sex with her.

That he used the most vulnerable: poor girls, whose families were extremely poor, from the lowest castes, girls entirely dependent on him for money, food and shelter, in the US and India.

That he masterminded a complex conspiracy of abuse for cheap labor and sex.

Judge Armstrong asked Reddy if it was accurate. Reddy managed a sorrowful, "Yes, your honor."

The damning statements struck at the core of those listening. Vijay shook his head, put his hands over his ears, hung his head low. Shekar cried, her bangles pressed against her forehead.

Then Judge Armstrong turned to Reddy, and he said his tearful apology.

It was a pathetic ending for the mogul: A muted plea for forgiveness, drowned in sorrow.

Two burly US Marshals stepped forward, and took him by his arms.

People flooded outside. There was a sense of jubilation in the lobby outside the courtroom, as Reddy's opponents hugged one another.

Members of the ACLU smiled, confident that the civil case they are mounting against Reddy was boosted by the guilty plea. South Asians who attended the trial spoke of their relief that Reddy had pleaded guilty, and spoke against him, asking the media not to characterize the community by his actions.

Shekar mixed her tears with a smile. She expected the girls would one day live a normal life.

But inside the courtroom, life seemed to be crumbling before Vijay's eyes.

He jumped immediately from his seat, watching Reddy being led away, into a door that leads inside the court building to the holding pen for prisoners. He strained himself against the gallery barrier, trying to get Reddy's attention.

He put his hand up, his voice caught in his throat, as if to wave good bye, and just as Reddy was being led through the door, he saw Vijay, and slightly lifted his cuffed hands.

With a push, the door closed behind him.

Vijay drooped. He breathed heavily, clasped his face, and began to sob like a lost boy. Looking at Vijay, one wondered whether he sobbed out of fear for himself and his impending trial. Or because he saw Lakireddy Bali Reddy being led out as a prisoner.

He did not see Reddy the acclaimed restaurateur, or Reddy the shrewd and prosperous real estate mogul, or Reddy the swaggering near-demigod. He saw Reddy the repentant; Reddy, his father.

Design: Lynette Menezes

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