The scream that tore from Julian Vance’s throat was not the sound of a man startled; it was the raw, guttural shriek of a man watching his entire empire crumble into ash in a single second.

The legal proceedings against Julian finally concluded in federal court in early June.

The sentence was swift and uncompromising: twenty-two years without the possibility of parole, distributed across multiple counts of wire fraud, grand larceny, corporate embezzlement, and obstruction of justice. The judge didn't mince words during the sentencing hearing.

"Mr. Vance," the judge said, his voice echoing coldly through the oak-paneled courtroom. "You used your intellect and your position to exploit the trust of your clients, your partners, and most tragically, your own family. You built an empire of deception, believing yourself above the law. Today, that illusion ends."

Julian didn't look at the gallery. He didn't look for Victoria—who had long since finalized her annulment and moved to the East Coast under an assumed name. He sat with his head bowed, his shoulders slumped inside his orange jumpsuit, looking like a man who had finally realized that every enemy he ever made was someone he created himself.

I wasn't in the courtroom. I was sitting at my desk on the seventeenth floor of the firm, reviewing a corporate merger contract, while Noah was at school winning another robotics match. We didn't need to hear the verdict delivered. We had already moved past the courtroom drama weeks before.

When Arthur walked into my office to give me the news, he simply placed a small note on my desk and nodded.

"It's over, Elena. He's gone for a long, long time."