Chapter 5 - The Reckoning in Court
The courtroom was packed to maximum capacity. Journalists, photographers, and curious citizens lined the benches, the hum of whispers creating a tense, electric atmosphere.
I sat at the prosecution table next to the district attorney and Alexander. Across the aisle sat Victoria, Veronica, and Julian Vance, flanked by a team of high-priced defense lawyers. Veronica looked haggard, the dark circles under her eyes contrasting sharply with her pale skin. When she looked at me, her eyes still flared with that familiar, desperate venom.
The defense attorney, a sharp-faced man named Marcus Vance (Julian’s cousin, unsurprisingly), stood before the judge.
"Your Honor," Marcus Vance argued, his voice dripping with theatrical arrogance. "The prosecution’s entire case rests on a diary supposedly written by a dying man, and the testimony of a disgruntled daughter who was emotionally unstable. We contend that Scarlett Sterling fabricated these documents, collaborated with her wealthy uncle to stage the incident at Pier 4, and framed my clients to steal the estate!"
A murmur ran through the crowd.
The judge looked down at the district attorney. "Does the prosecution have any corroborating evidence to disprove the defense’s claim of fabrication?"
The district attorney stood up. "We do, Your Honor. We call our final witness to the stand: Mr. Harold Finch."
At the mention of the name, Victoria’s face drained of what little color it had left. She grabbed her lawyer’s arm, whispering frantically.
Harold Finch was my father’s personal accountant for thirty years—a man who had suddenly disappeared the day after my father’s funeral. Everyone assumed he had taken a payout and fled. But Alexander’s global intelligence network had tracked him down in a small village in New Zealand, where he was being held under threat by Julian Vance’s men.
The doors opened, and an older man with glasses, escorted by two federal marshals, walked into the courtroom. He took the stand, took the oath, and looked directly at Victoria.
"Mr. Finch," the district attorney asked. "Did you assist Victoria Sterling in forging the revised will of Richard Sterling?"
"I did," Finch said, his voice trembling with guilt. "She and Julian Vance threatened to kill my family if I didn't help them open the offshore accounts and transfer the foundation's funds. I have kept copies of every single text message, bank routing number, and wire transfer authorized by Victoria Sterling over the past year. I have them right here."
He produced a encrypted flash drive from his pocket.
Marcus Vance stood up, shouting an objection, but the judge slammed his gavel down. "Objection overruled! Sit down, Counselor."
For the next two hours, the courtroom listened in stunned silence as the financial evidence was presented. The digital trail was airtight. It showed the exact dates the money was stolen, the payments made to purchase the toxin, and a recorded phone conversation between Victoria and Julian Vance discussing how to "handle" me if I became a problem.
When the recording played—Victoria’s voice clearly stating, "Just break her hands so she can't sign anything, I don't care"—the courtroom erupted into shouts of disgust.
Veronica covered her face with her hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Victoria sat frozen, staring blankly at the defense table, knowing her life of luxury was officially over.
The jury took less than an hour to return a verdict.
Guilty on all counts.
As the handcuffs were clicked onto Veronica’s wrists, she looked at me across the courtroom, tears streaming down her face. "Scarlett, please! We're sisters! Tell them to be lenient! Please!"
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I stood up, smoothing down my tailored black suit jacket. I looked at her with a calm, peaceful indifference.
"We were never sisters, Veronica," I said softly. "You were just a shadow in my father's house. And now, the light is back on."
