Johnny Hanson / Houston Chronicle
R. Allen Stanford was sentenced to 110 years in prison for being involved in a Ponzi scheme.


Houston --
As she spoke on behalf of Texas financier R. Allen Stanford's victims Thursday, Angela Shaw asked those present in the courtroom to stand.
Shaw, whose family lost millions to Stanford's $7 billion Ponzi scheme, has spent the past three years speaking for the thousands of victims in the case. With half the gallery on its feet, she asked U.S. District Judge David Hittner to make the convicted swindler stand and face his victims.
The judge refused, and Stanford continued to face forward.
He would go on to be sentenced to 110 years for his crimes.
Symbolic gesture

It was a sad tableau, yet a familiar one for Stanford's victims. They have grown used to people turning their backs as they have struggled during the past three years to recover from Stanford's crimes. Many face financial ruin, shattered retirements, or the loss of medical treatments they can no longer afford.
They have yet to recover any of the money they invested in Stanford's certificates of deposit. It will be months before another judge clears the way for the first repayments to begin.
Stanford's victims have until Sept. 1 to file claims with the court-appointed receiver who has recovered what paltry assets remain. If approved by a judge, investors may get to divide as much as $70 million - pennies against a potential $5 billion in claims.
Another $300 million or so remains frozen in international accounts, while the receiver in Dallas and liquidators of Stanford's bank in Antigua battle over who should be the one to distribute it to investors.
The liquidators and the receiver trade barbs and court actions, but so far neither has been able to put into investors' hands what has become the biggest chunk of money left from Stanford's fraud.
"The litigation will drag on for years," said Kevin Sadler, the receiver's attorney.
Pennies on the dollar

Even if the foreign money were doled out, though, investors might recover no more than 11 cents on the dollar, estimates Edward Davis Jr., a Florida lawyer representing the liquidators.
Stanford himself may have faced justice on Thursday, but economic justice remains elusive for those upon whom he preyed.
Facing 230 years in prison for masterminding one of the greatest financial frauds in America history, Stanford preceded Shaw to the podium and embarked on a meandering monologue, choking on his own self-pity as he mentioned his family and lost business empire. He called himself a scapegoat and blamed the government for all his woes.
Hittner eventually cut off Stanford's rambling and sentenced him to 110 years in prison, less than half of the maximum.
In real terms, the difference between a century or two behind bars is irrelevant. At 62, Stanford will spend the rest of his life in prison.
No sentence is enough

But when weighed against the symbolic nature of the fraud, the sentence comes up short. In their arguments, government prosecutors made a comparison between Stanford's crimes and those of Bernie Madoff, who pleaded guilty and is serving 150 years.
Madoff's fraud was bigger - as much as $65 billion compared with Stanford's $7 billion - but the Stanford case had more victims who had far less they could afford to lose.
Stanford targeted upper middle-class investors, many of them retirees, looking for a safe haven for their money. He bamboozled them with reassures about deposit insurance that didn't exist, and he assuaged their concerns about Caribbean banks.
Unlike Madoff, Stanford lived so lavishly that little of their money remains. While Madoff's victims can divvy up billions that were recovered on their behalf, Stanford left little more than the financial veneer of fancy offices, overvalued real estate and worthless investments.
After the sentencing, Stanford was led from the courtroom through a side door as investors filed out. A few lingered and exchanged hugs.
Whatever solace may come with seeing Stanford in jail for life will soon fade back to the grim reality of rebuilding lives upended by his crimes.
This article appeared on page E - 2 of the San Francisco Chronicle