We walked back into the courtroom, the silence of the empty gallery hanging heavy over the oak benches.

Inside the judge’s private chambers, the air smelled of old paper and leather-bound books.

Judge Harlan sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose.

Preston Carroway stood by the window, his hands stuffed into his pockets, looking uncharacteristically tense.

Grant entered a moment later, his calm facade firmly back in place.

“Sit down,” Judge Harlan said, his voice flat.

We took our seats in the leather chairs opposite his desk.

“Mrs. Bellamy’s counsel has presented some highly concerning financial documents,” Judge Harlan began, looking directly at Grant. “Specifically, bank ledgers and cash withdrawal receipts that do not align with Mr. Bellamy’s reported income.”

“Your Honor, these are unsubstantiated scraps of paper,” Carroway interrupted, stepping forward. “They have no proven connection to my client’s business holdings.”

“They have a direct connection to Daniel Vance,” Sarah countered, placing a fresh document on the judge’s desk. “And we have just served Mr. Vance with an emergency court subpoena.”