The red wine hit my face before I could even process Garrett’s hand moving.

The jury deliberated for less than four hours.

When the foreperson, a retired schoolteacher, stood up to deliver the verdict, the courtroom fell into an electric silence.

"On Count One, Aggravated Identity Theft: Guilty."

"On Count Two, Wire Fraud: Guilty."

"On Count Three, Conspiracy to Commit Grand Larceny: Guilty."

The word echoed through the courtroom like a steady, relentless drumbeat. Thirty-two counts. Thirty-two verdicts of *Guilty*.

Vivian began to sob loudly, her hands covering her face as she rocked back and forth on the bench. "No, no, this is impossible... we are Sterlings! We are Sterlings!"

Garrett didn't move. He sat frozen, staring blankly at the polished mahogany table as his life was officially dismantled.

Judge Robert Holbrook looked down from the bench, his face etched with disgust as he addressed the defendants.

"In my thirty years on the federal bench," Judge Holbrook stated, his voice booming through the chamber, "I have rarely seen a more despicable display of greed, deceit, and domestic cruelty. You targeted a grieving young woman, exploited her trust, and attempted to strip her family legacy down to the bone—all while treating her with profound, abusive contempt."

Judge Holbrook adjusted his glasses and looked at Garrett.

"Garrett Sterling, on the federal charges, you are sentenced to twenty-two years in a maximum-security federal penitentiary, without the possibility of parole. You are further ordered to pay full restitution in the amount of six million, two hundred thousand dollars."

Garrett flinched as if struck by a physical blow.

"Vivian Sterling," the judge continued, turning his gaze to the weeping mother. "For your active participation in this criminal conspiracy and your subsequent violent home invasion, you are sentenced to eleven years at the Federal Correctional Institution in Danbury."

The gavel came down with a thunderous crack: *BANG.*

U.S. Marshals stepped forward immediately, latching the heavy steel handcuffs around Garrett’s wrists and Vivian’s trembling hands.

As Garrett was led past my seat toward the holding cells, he stopped. He looked at me, tears streaming down his hollow cheeks, his voice cracking into a desperate, pathetic whimper: "Claire... please. You loved me once. Please help me."

I met his gaze with absolute stillness.

"The bill is paid, Garrett," I said softly.