Chapter 7 - The Trial by Fire
The steps of the Cook County Courthouse were swarming with reporters, photographers, and police officers.
When Alexander’s motorcade pulled up to the curb, flashbulbs exploded like a thousand tiny lightning strikes against the tinted windows.
Marco opened my door.
I stepped out onto the pavement, wearing an emerald-green tailored suit, my head held high, my hair swept back in an elegant bun.
Beside me, Alexander took my arm, his massive frame shielding me from the shouting journalists.
"Mrs. Carter! Are you safe?"
"Mr. Moretti, did you coerce her?"
"Is this a mob kidnapping?"
We ignored the shouting voices, walking up the granite steps with measured, unstoppable grace.
Inside Courtroom 302, the air was cold and smelled of old paper and polished wood.
Derek was already seated at the plaintiff's table.
He looked immaculate in a dark gray suit, playing the role of the heartbroken, dutiful husband to perfection.
When he saw me enter on Alexander’s arm, his eyes flashed with a split second of pure, venomous hatred before melting into manufactured sorrow.
"Emily," he gasped loudly enough for the gallery to hear.
"Thank God you’re alive."
I didn't answer him.
I took my seat at the defense table, Alexander sitting directly to my right, completely unbothered by the armed bailiffs watching him nervously.
Judge Harris entered from his chambers, slamming his gavel down with unnecessary force.
"This is an emergency hearing regarding the physical and mental welfare of Emily Whitcomb Carter," the judge declared, glaring down at Alexander.
"Mr. Moretti, your presence here is irregular."
"I am her legal representative's primary client," Alexander said smoothly.
"I have every right to observe a public proceeding."
"Very well," Harris barked, turning to Derek’s attorney.
"Counselor, present your petition."
Derek’s lawyer stood up, waving a thick stack of papers.
"Your Honor, Mrs. Carter has suffered an acute psychiatric break."
"She has fled her home, consorted with known organized crime figures, and is completely unable to care for herself."
"We ask for immediate temporary conservatorship remanded to her husband, Derek Carter."
"Your Honor, if I may speak?"
The courtroom fell dead silent.
It wasn't my attorney who had spoken.
It was me.
Judge Harris scowled, adjusting his glasses.
"Mrs. Carter, your attorney should—"
"I have the right to address the court regarding my own sanity, Your Honor," I interrupted, standing tall.
Derek stared at me, his eyes widening in shock.
In three years, I had never once interrupted a man in public.
I walked toward the podium with slow, deliberate steps, my heels clicking sharply against the linoleum.
"Derek claims I am delusional," I began, my voice ringing through the chamber without a single tremor.
"He claims I invent financial crimes that never occurred."
"Emily, sweetheart, sit down," Derek whispered frantically, his mask beginning to crack.
"You're making a scene."
"Let her speak," Alexander's voice boomed from behind, low and terrifying, silencing the entire room.
I reached into my leather portfolio and pulled out three certified bank transmittals.
"These are records from Blue Horizon Enterprises in the Cayman Islands," I said, placing them directly onto the clerk's desk.
Judge Harris turned the color of chalk.
"These documents show a wire transfer of five hundred thousand dollars sent forty-eight hours ago," I continued.
"From Derek Carter’s private shell corporation directly into an account belonging to the Robert Harris Family Trust."
A collective gasp rippled through the gallery.
"This is outrageous!" Derek’s lawyer screamed, leaping to his feet.
"This is confidential proprietary information stolen by an unstable woman!"
"It isn't stolen," I replied, turning my head to lock eyes with Derek.
"It belongs to the ledger of Daniel Whitcomb."
"The ledger you killed my father to find."
Derek sprang out of his chair, knocking his legal pads to the floor.
"You lying bitch!" he roared, completely losing his composure.
"Bailiff! Restrain him!" Judge Harris yelled, his voice cracking with sheer panic.
Two officers grabbed Derek's arms as he lunged toward me, his handsome face twisted into an ugly, foaming snarl.
"You belong to me!" Derek screamed, thrashing against the guards.
"Your father died in the dirt, and that's where you're going to end up!"
The flashbulbs from the courtroom sketches and the murmurs of the reporters turned into a deafening roar.
I didn't flinch.
I didn't take a single step backward.
I stood there, looking down at the monster who had terrorized my life, and felt nothing but cold, absolute contempt.
Judge Harris slammed his gavel down over and over again, sweating through his black robes.
"Court is adjourned! Clear the room! Clear the room immediately!"
As the chaos erupted, Alexander walked up beside me, placing a steady hand on the small of my back.
May you like
"You did it, little bird," he murmured close to my ear.
"Now let's finish the hunt."
