The courtroom was quiet, the air thick with the hum of the fluorescent lights.

At the defense table sat my father, Arthur, and my husband, Gavin.

They were both dressed in navy blue suits, but they wore heavy plastic restraints on their wrists.

Two sheriff’s deputies stood directly behind them, their hands resting near their utility belts.

Gavin looked back as the door clicked shut behind us.

His eyes locked onto mine, and his jaw tightened.

There was no smirk on his face today, only a pale, sweating desperation.

Arthur kept his head down, staring at a yellow legal pad on the table in front of him.

“Sit here,” Daniel whispered, guiding me to the front row of the gallery.

I sat on the hard wooden bench, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.

The prosecutor, a tall woman named Ms. Vance, turned from her table and nodded to Daniel.

Daniel opened his briefcase and pulled out three thick, bound folders.

These folders contained the complete forensic audit of the Cumberland Restaurant Group.

It was the paper trail of our family’s destruction.