Judge Whitmore, who had watched the whole exchange in stunned silence, slowly reached for his gavel. “Bailiff,” he said heavily. “Please contact the federal marshals.

It appears we have a significant situation on our hands.”

Grant didn’t fight as they led him out. The arrogance had been hollowed out of him. Vanessa tried to follow, screaming that she’d testify, that she was a victim, but he didn’t look back at her.

Their toxic alliance evaporated the second the money did.

Lena Ortiz walked over and offered a small, respectful smile. “Are you alright, Mrs. Mercer?”

“I will be,” I said.