177 I only wanted to save the boy and disappear.

The federal courtroom in Manhattan was packed to the doors.

The cameras of every major news network were lined up outside the stone steps, their bright lights piercing the gray winter morning. The headline had dominated the country for weeks: The Billionaire, the Senator, and the Street Child.

I sat in the witness box.

My feet didn't reach the floor. They dangled from the high wooden chair, wearing a pair of clean, shiny black shoes Maxwell had bought me. I wore a neat, dark blue dress with a white collar. I felt like a doll, but when I looked toward the defense table, my fear disappeared.

Jennifer Vance sat there, wearing a drab, gray prison jumpsuit. The diamonds were gone. Her beautiful blonde hair was limp and greasy. Beside her sat her father, Senator Vance, his face pale and ruined, his political career completely destroyed by the financial ledgers David—Maxwell’s private investigator—had uncovered in the cabin well.

"Lily," the federal prosecutor said, his voice gentle as he stood before me. "Can you tell the court what happened on the night of November 14th?"

I looked at the judge, a kind-looking woman with gray hair, then at the jury.

"I was looking for a dry place to sleep," I said, my voice echoing through the silent courtroom. "The wind was very cold. I heard someone crying. I found Ethan near the drain."

"And did you see his crutches?"

"They were down the drain," I said. "Jennifer threw them there. Ethan told me she did."

"Objection!" Sterling, Jennifer's high-priced defense attorney, stood up, his face red. "The witness is repeating hearsay from a traumatized child! There is no physical evidence tying my client to those crutches!"

"We have the fingerprint analysis, Your Honor," the prosecutor said, his voice calm and confident. "The state forensic lab recovered three distinct prints matching the defendant from the upper shaft of the crutches wedged in the pipe. Prints that could only be left by someone pushing them down with immense force."

Sterling sat down slowly, his face turning the color of old paper.

"Lily," the prosecutor continued. "Why did you give Ethan your coat? You were freezing too."

I looked at Ethan, who was sitting in the front row of the gallery next to his father. He was wearing a small suit, his crutches resting against his chair, but he was smiling at me.

"Because he was smaller than me," I said simply. "And on the streets, you don't leave people behind to freeze. Even if you don't know them."

Several people in the gallery began to weep quietly.

"No more questions, Your Honor," the prosecutor said.

Jennifer’s attorney didn't even stand up to cross-examine me. He knew it was over.

Two days later, the jury returned their verdict.

Jennifer Vance was found guilty on all counts, including attempted murder and conspiracy to commit fraud. She was sentenced to thirty years in federal prison. Her father, the Senator, was indicted on multiple charges of corruption and obstruction of justice, his legacy erased in a matter of hours.

But as we walked out of the courtroom, surrounded by a wall of security guards, a woman in a dark suit blocked our path.

"Mr. Blackwood," she said, holding a legal folder. "I am from the State Department of Child Services. Now that the trial is over, we must address the custody of the minor, Lily. Since she has no legal guardians and is currently a ward of the state, we must place her in a certified foster home immediately pending a full evaluation."

Ethan instantly grabbed my hand. "No! She’s my sister! You can't take her!"

"I'm sorry, young man," the woman said, her voice professional but cold. "The law is the law. We cannot allow a child to remain in an unregulated environment without legal guardianship."

Maxwell stepped forward, his eyes locking onto the social worker.

"She is not in an unregulated environment," Maxwell said, pulling a document from Harrison’s briefcase. "This is a petition for expedited adoption, signed by myself and approved by the family court judge this morning. I have also established a five-million-dollar trust fund in Lily’s name, and her legal representation is handled by the top firm in the state."

The social worker blinked, stunned. "Mr. Blackwood... adoption is a long process. It takes months, sometimes years—"

"I have already bypassed the timeline," Maxwell said, his voice carrying that familiar, unyielding authority. "The Governor has signed an executive order expediting the process due to extraordinary circumstances. Lily is legally my daughter as of nine o'clock this morning. If you try to touch her, you will be suing the state of New York."

The woman looked at the papers, her mouth opening and closing. Slowly, she stepped aside.

Maxwell turned to me. He knelt down on the cold marble floor of the courthouse, looking at me with tears in his eyes.

"Lily," he whispered. "Do you want to be a Blackwood? Do you want to be Ethan's sister? Forever?"

I looked at Ethan, who was jumping up and down on his crutches, his face glowing with a joy I had never seen before. I looked at Maxwell, the man who had faced down senators, lawyers, and armed men just to keep a street child safe.

"Can I keep my closet?" I asked, a tiny smile finally breaking across my face.