The cold tile beneath me offered a grounding, relentless reality: my five-year nightmare was officially coming to an end.

As Julian and his mother shuffled out of Courtroom 402, their eyes glued to the floor, the two federal agents stepped into their path.

"Julian Vance? Fiona Vance?" the lead agent asked, holding up a golden badge inside a leather wallet. "I am Special Agent Miller with the Internal Revenue Service Criminal Investigation Division."

Fiona froze, clutching her cheap purse against her chest. "What... what is this?!"

"You are both being placed under arrest pursuant to a federal warrant issued by the Northern District of Illinois," Agent Miller announced, pulling two pairs of steel handcuffs from his belt. "Charges include conspiracy to commit tax fraud, wire fraud, and the illegal off-shoring of unreported capital."

"No! No!" Fiona shrieked as the metallic clack of the handcuffs snapped around her wrists right in the middle of the crowded courthouse corridor. "Julian! Help me! Sloan did this! That evil woman ruined us!"

"Mom, shut up!" Julian yelled, his voice cracking with sheer panic as the second agent cuffed his hands behind his back. "Just shut up!"

The crowd of lawyers, paralegals, and journalists gathered in the hallway pulled out their phones, snapping photos and recording video as the disgraced duo was led away in chains.

I walked out of the courtroom, stopping a few feet away from where Julian was being guided toward the secure elevator.

Julian turned his head, looking at me one last time through his tears. "Sloan... please... don't do this to me... I'll die in prison..."

I looked at him, feeling no anger, no sadness—only the vast, clean emptiness of total liberation.

"You told me that if I missed a single dish, I had to pack my bags and get out," I said softly, my voice carrying over the clicks of the news cameras. "Well, Julian... I didn't miss a single dish. But you’re the one who’s packing."

He opened his mouth to reply, but the federal agents pushed him into the elevator, and the doors slid shut with a smooth, silent whoosh.

Darcy stepped up beside me, handing me a pen and a single sheet of paper—the final, absolute Judgment of Dissolution of Marriage signed by the judge.