The sound of snapping bone echoed through the vaulted arches of Saint Jude’s Cathedral, far louder than the screeching pipe organ had been seconds prior.

With the trial finished, I threw my energy into creating something meaningful from the ashes of the scandal. Using the four billion euros reclaimed from Aethelgard Holdings, I established the Arthur Sterling Foundation for Medical Ethics and Patient Protection.

We opened state-of-the-art diagnostic centers across Europe and North America, offering free, advanced medical treatments and organ-matching verification for families in need—ensuring that no person could ever be exploited or harvested by corrupt syndicates again.

At the grand opening of the foundation’s primary facility in London, I walked through the bright, sunlit glass halls. Children who had been saved by our ethical donor network were playing in the garden courtyard.

Marcus walked up beside me, handing me a glass of sparkling water. "It seems the Sterling name now stands for something far greater than real estate or corporate wealth."

"It stands for what my father always wanted," I smiled, looking out at the gardens. "A shield for those who cannot protect themselves."

"Speaking of protection," Marcus noted with a warm smile, "I’m officially resigning as your head of tactical security."

I blinked, surprised. "What? Why?"

Marcus motioned toward the entrance, where a tall, handsome man with sharp grey eyes and a warm, genuine smile was walking toward us, carrying a folder of legal documents. It was Gabriel Vance—the estranged, black-sheep cousin of Preston who had secretly fed me the internal administrative access codes that broke the Vance mainframe three months ago.