The fluorescent lights of the St. Vincent ER ceiling buzzed with a low, continuous hum that seemed to vibrate directly inside my skull.

Six months later.

The Multnomah County Courthouse was packed to capacity for the trial of State of Oregon v. Vanessa Evelyn Bennett.

The case had become a national media sensation—a story of suburban wealth, toxic sibling rivalry, blackmail, and an attempted murder captured on crystal-clear 4K security footage.

I sat in the front row of the gallery, wearing a simple cream-colored dress, holding Ethan’s hand. Beside me sat Jenna and Ethan's father, Judge Thomas Monroe, who had provided unwavering legal wisdom throughout the entire process.

Vanessa sat at the defense table. She was dressed in a dark blue jail jumpsuit, her blonde hair dull and flat, her manicured nails gone. The arrogance that had defined her for thirty-four years was completely shattered, replaced by a cold, desperate fear as she stared at the jury box.

My parents sat two rows behind her, flanked by their own separate criminal defense attorneys. A federal grand jury had indicted my father three weeks earlier on twelve counts of wire fraud and tax evasion, freezing all the family’s assets, including the Cayman Islands trust.

"All rise," the clerk announced.

Judge Margaret Thornton took the bench. "We are here for the reading of the verdict in the matter of State versus Bennett."

The jury foreman, a tall man in his fifties with a stern face, stood up and held the paper document.

"On Count One: Attempted Aggravated Murder in the First Degree... we the jury find the defendant, Vanessa Evelyn Bennett, GUILTY."

A loud gasp echoed through the courtroom gallery.

"On Count Two: Extortion... GUILTY."

"On Count Three: Grand Larceny... GUILTY."

"On Count Four: Assault with a Dangerous Weapon... GUILTY."

Guilty on all counts.

Vanessa let out a choked, ragged sob, sinking her head onto the defense table as the bailiffs immediately stepped forward to attach heavy iron hand chains and leg shackles around her limbs.

Judge Thornton looked down at the defense table with absolute, unyielding severity.

"Vanessa Bennett," Judge Thornton spoke, her voice carrying through the silent courtroom. "You operated under the delusion that your privilege, your family's wealth, and your ability to manipulate those around you made you immune to the law. You brought a deadly weapon to your sister's wedding, attempted to take her life out of sheer greed and malice, and showed zero remorse until the moment the handcuffs were clicked around your wrists."

Judge Thornton picked up her gavel.

"I sentence you to TWENTY-FIVE YEARS in the Oregon State Penitentiary without the possibility of parole for the first fifteen years. Remand the defendant into custody."

As the bailiffs pulled Vanessa to her feet, she turned her head toward the gallery. Her tear-streaked face locked onto mine.

"Claire!" she screamed, her voice cracking with wild, pathetic desperation as she was dragged toward the side holding door. "Claire, please! Tell them to stop! I'm your sister! I'm your sister!"

I didn't answer. I didn't yell. I didn't shed a single tear.