Chapter 4
The courtroom was oppressive,
smelling of old wood,
polished leather,
and nervous sweat.
I sat in the front row of the gallery,
flanked by Gabriel and a wall of our private attorneys.
Ethan was led into the room in an orange jumpsuit,
the bright color a stark contrast to the tailored suits he used to wear.
He looked thinner,
his arrogance chipped away by months in a concrete cell.
But when he saw me,
a flicker of that old,
hateful smugness returned to his eyes.
He still thought he could outsmart us,
he still believed his silence about the syndicate would earn him a reduced sentence.
The judge took her seat,
the gavel echoing loudly through the silent chamber.
The prosecutor stood,
adjusting his glasses before addressing the court.
"Your Honor,"
he began,
"we have submitted new evidence this morning."
Ethan's defense attorney frowned,
shuffling through the papers on his desk.
"Evidence obtained from a secure flash drive,"
the prosecutor continued,
"detailing a massive conspiracy of wire fraud,
extortion,
and attempted murder for hire."
Ethan's smug expression vanished instantly,
replaced by a mask of pure terror.
He whipped his head around,
staring at me with wide,
panicked eyes.
I didn't blink,
and I didn't look away.
I simply tilted my head,
offering him a faint,
merciless smile.
He knew exactly what had happened,
he knew Vanessa had broken,
and he knew I had the drive.
The prosecutor projected financial records onto the large screen,
showing the exact flow of illicit funds Ethan had hidden.
"Mr. Cole was not merely a corrupt husband,"
the prosecutor stated firmly,
"he was the architect of a scheme designed to liquidate his wife's assets upon her engineered demise."
The gallery erupted in whispers,
reporters scribbling furiously in their notebooks.
Ethan slumped in his chair,
burying his face in his trembling hands.
His defense attorney tried to object,
but the judge silenced him swiftly.
"The evidence clearly outlines the involvement of offshore entities,"
the judge noted,
reviewing the files before her.
"Yes, Your Honor,"
the prosecutor confirmed,
"and Mr. Cole's digital signature authorizes every single transaction."
Gabriel leaned over,
whispering in my ear.
"He is ruined,"
Gabriel said softly,
"he will never see daylight again."
"It's not enough,"
I replied quietly,
watching Ethan hyperventilate at the defense table.
He had tried to kill my child,
he had kicked me while I was utterly defenseless.
Prison was a structural punishment,
but I wanted him to feel the exact isolation he had forced upon me.
When the session adjourned for recess,
Ethan was led past my row in handcuffs.
He stopped,
ignoring the guards pulling at his arms.
"Mara,"
he pleaded,
his voice cracking pathetically.
"You took the deal,"
he cried,
"you promised them the money so they wouldn't kill you."
I stood up slowly,
adjusting the cuffs of my pristine jacket.
"I didn't promise them anything, Ethan,"
I whispered,
so only he could hear.
"I took their money,"
I clarified,
"and I used it to buy the judge,
the warden,
and the cell block you are going to live in."
His face went completely pale,
the realization sinking into his bones.
He wasn't going to a minimum-security resort,
he was going exactly where I wanted him to go.
"Enjoy your new home,"
May you like
I said,
turning my back on him forever.
