Chapter 9 - The Reckoning in Milwaukee
The federal courthouse in downtown Milwaukee stood like a monument of gray limestone against a pale spring sky.
Three weeks after the raid at the Lake Geneva mansion, the snow had melted into muddy slush along the gutters, and the city was waking up to the first genuine warmth of April.
Evelyn wore a sharp navy blue blazer and dark trousers—clothes that Rosa had quietly ordered for her from a boutique in Madison—as she walked up the grand stone steps of the courthouse between Gabriel and Victor Sloane. Behind them, walking with a steady, unhurried gait on a brand-new leather leash that didn't pinch his hip, was Titan.
Flashbulbs popped from the media barricades set up along the perimeter. Reporters shouted questions about real estate holdings, federal indictments, and the sudden, silent disappearance of Arthur Pendelton and several prominent Chicago philanthropists from public life.
Gabriel didn't look at the cameras. His hand rested firmly at the small of Evelyn’s back, guiding her forward with an unspoken protection that told every reporter and onlooker exactly where she stood in his world.
Inside the building, the air smelled of floor wax and old paper.
They were met in the second-floor corridor by Assistant U.S. Attorney Marcus Vance—a sharp-eyed man with graying hair who looked at the heavy blue linen ledgers in Gabriel’s briefcase with the reverence of an archaeologist unearthing a lost city.
“Mr. Romano. Miss Hart,” Vance greeted them, shaking their hands firmly. “The grand jury has already returned indictments on all counts for Pendelton and his associates. Your documentation makes appeal virtually impossible.”
“The ledgers speak for themselves, Mr. Vance,” Gabriel said smoothly. “Every name, every transaction, every illegal foreclosure is accounted for.”
“Indeed,” Vance said, glancing down at Titan, who sat quietly beside Evelyn like a carved obsidian statue. “And the dog?”
“He’s my legal counsel,” Evelyn said with a straight face. “He advises me on which politicians are trustworthy.”
Vance let out a dry laugh. “Well, counsel has excellent instincts. The hearing is set for ten o’clock in courtroom three-B. Shall we?”
The courtroom was packed to capacity. When Gabriel, Evelyn, and Victor took their seats in the gallery, a hush fell over the room. Across the aisle, sitting behind the defense table in a gray prison jumpsuit with his head bowed, was Arthur Pendelton. The arrogant, untouchable lawyer looked ten years older, his skin sallow and his hands trembling as he stared down at his legal pad.
The judge entered. The gavel fell.
For the next two hours, the machinery of justice ground forward with quiet, devastating efficiency. Statement after statement was read into the record; document after document was entered into evidence. And through it all, Evelyn sat with her hand resting lightly over Gabriel’s knuckles, feeling the steady, powerful pulse of a man who had finally laid his ghosts to rest.
When the judge finally rapped his gavel to recess for lunch, Pendelton was led away by federal marshals without ever looking up toward the gallery.
As the courtroom emptied out, Gabriel turned to Evelyn, a slow, brilliant smile breaking across his face.
May you like
“It’s over,” he said softly.
“No,” Evelyn corrected him, a matching smile touching her lips as she looked toward the oak doors leading out into the bright April sunlight. “It’s just beginning.”
