“The defendant is sentenced to eighty-four months in federal custody, followed by three years of supervised release,” the judge announced.

She slammed her wooden gavel.

The sound cracked through the quiet courtroom.

Two marshals stepped forward, grabbed Grant by his elbows, and led him toward the side door.

He looked back at me once, his face pale and hollow.

I did not look away.

I watched him until the heavy metal door clicked shut behind him.

***

In the hallway outside, Brielle approached us.

She held a small velvet box in her hand.

“This belongs to your family,” Brielle said, her voice trembling as she handed me the box.

I opened it. My grandmother’s ring sat on the white satin cushion.

“Thank you, Brielle,” I said, closing the box.

“I didn’t know what he was doing,” she said, looking down at the tiled floor. “I am sorry.”

“You did the right thing in the end,” I said.

She nodded slowly, then turned and walked toward the elevators.

***

Three days later, I returned to the suburban home in Alexandria.

The house was empty and quiet.