I looked back at Ethan.

The yellow light of the room highlighted the sweat on his forehead.

“No,” I said.

The room went completely still.

“Natalie, please,” Ethan stammered. “She will go to prison anyway. My testimony guarantees it.”

“We don’t need your testimony,” I said.

“We have the kitchen camera.”

“We have the bank logs showing your IP address accessing my accounts.”

“And we have the medical reports.”

Ethan’s face drained of what little color it had left.

“I want the maximum,” I said to Miller.

“For both of them.”

“I will not agree to any plea deal.”

“I will not help you avoid prison, Ethan.”

Miller sighed and closed his yellow legal pad.

“Natalie, if this goes to a full trial on all counts, it could take months,” Miller warned.

“Your assets are tied up in the disputed estate.”

“I can wait,” I said.

I turned and opened the door.

“We are done here,” I said to Vance.

Ethan stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“Natalie!” he screamed as the bailiff stepped into the room to restrain him.