“And funded it with millions of dollars from your business?”

Grant opened his mouth to speak, then stopped.

His face turned a deep, angry red.

The polished, perfect businessman was starting to crack.

I could see the panic behind his eyes.

The wind rattled the courtroom windows again, a cold draft sweeping through the room.

Grant clutched the edge of the witness stand so hard his hands shook.

“She has always been jealous of my success,” Grant said, his voice rising.

“She wants to take my money and my son.”

“Mr. Bellamy,” Judge Harlan said, his voice dripping with disapproval.

“You are under oath.”

“I am telling the truth,” Grant insisted, his eyes darting around the room.

“She took that shirt from my house.”

“She could have put anything in it.”

Sarah stepped closer to the stand, her expression calm.

“Mr. Bellamy, the receipt is dated three days ago,” Sarah said.

“It was printed from a computer at your office.”

“We have the IP address log from the bank’s login history.”

“It matches your private office network.”

Grant’s breath hitched.