D165.“If you don’t get on your knees and apologize to Sabrina, I’m throwing you out of my house tonight.”

Six months later.

The United States District Court for the Central District of California was packed to capacity.

Dozens of national news cameras were camped outside the courthouse steps, while inside the wood-paneled courtroom, the gallery was crowded with reporters, former employees, and business analysts.

Brendan Alcott sat at the defense table beside a court-appointed public defender.

He was unrecognizable from the arrogant billionaire who had raised a champagne glass at the St. Regis gala. He had lost thirty pounds. His tailored Brioni suits had been replaced by a stiff, ill-fitting gray suit borrowed from legal aid. His hands were clasped tightly on the table, trembling constantly.

Behind him in the first row sat Claire, wearing a faded thrift-store dress, her eyes hollow, clutching a worn rosary.

The double doors at the back of the courtroom swung open.

A hush fell over the gallery as I entered.

I wore a tailored charcoal gray suit with a crisp white silk blouse, walking with steady, effortless authority. Beside me walked Andrew Ashworth and Marcus Vance, the newly appointed Chief Operating Officer of Pinnacle Enterprises.

I didn't look at Brendan as I walked past the defense table. I took my seat in the front row of the prosecution's gallery, directly behind the United States Attorney.

“All rise!” the bailiff called out. “The Honorable Judge Evelyn Carter presiding.”

Judge Carter, a formidable woman with twenty-five years on the federal bench, took her seat and adjusted her reading glasses over a massive stack of sentencing documents.

“In the matter of the United States versus Brendan Alcott,” Judge Carter began, her voice cutting through the silent courtroom like a scalpel. “The defendant has pled guilty to three counts of federal wire fraud, two counts of grand embezzlement under the Bank Secrecy Act, and one count of filing fraudulent regulatory statements.”

Judge Carter looked over her glasses directly at Brendan.

“Mr. Alcott, I have reviewed your counsel’s petition for leniency citing your lack of prior criminal history. However, I have also reviewed the forensic accounting reports submitted by the court-appointed receivers. Over a five-year period, you systematically drained over forty-two million dollars from corporate treasury accounts to fund personal luxuries, offshore shell companies, and illicit gifts.”

Claire let out a quiet sob from behind the defense table.

“What strikes this court as particularly egregious,” Judge Carter continued, her tone darkening, “is the utter lack of moral compass demonstrated by this defendant. You didn't merely steal corporate funds; you systematically abused the trust of your spouse, used corporate funds to silence whistleblowers, and flaunted stolen wealth in public while attempting to shield yourself behind an honorable family’s legacy.”

Judge Carter picked up her gavel.

“It is the sentence of this court that on Counts One through Three, Brendan Alcott be remanded to the custody of the Federal Bureau of Prisons for a term of twelve years. On Counts Four and Five, an additional three years to run concurrently. Upon release, you will serve five years of supervised probation and make full restitution in the amount of thirty-eight million, four hundred thousand dollars.”

*Crack.*

The sound of the wooden gavel hitting the sound block echoed through the room like a thunderclap.

Brendan collapsed forward, his forehead slamming against the defense table, his body shaking with violent, uncontrollable weeping.

“No!” Claire screamed, rising from her bench before the bailiffs immediately stepped forward to restrain her. “My baby! Brendan! No!”

Judge Carter didn't even look up from her paperwork. “Bailiff, clear the court. Defendant is remanded immediately.”

Two federal marshals stepped up to Brendan, pulled his arms behind his back, and locked the steel cuffs around his wrists.

As they hauled him toward the heavy steel holding door at the side of the courtroom, Brendan twisted his head back, his eyes searching frantically through the crowd until they locked onto mine.

“Sydney…” he choked out, his voice cracked and ruined. “Sydney… please tell them… please…”

I met his gaze for three seconds.

There was no hatred in my eyes. No triumphant smile. Just the profound, absolute indifference of a woman who had completely excised a parasite from her life.