Gavin’s smile did not vanish immediately, but it froze at the edges.

He glanced at Dane, then back up at the bench.

“I’m sorry, Your Honor?” Gavin said, his voice dropping slightly in pitch.

“Perhaps there is a misprint on your copy.”

“There is no misprint on the certified state record, Mr. Rourke,” Judge Beckett said.

She turned the page over, her thumb pressing hard against the blue paper margin.

“The document states that the sole managing member and hundred-percent owner of Bellamy Holdings—the entity that owns Rourke Regional Mobility—is Cassandra Bellamy.”

A sharp, sudden breath sounded from the gallery behind me.

I did not turn around, but I knew it was Sloane.

Her perfume, a heavy, cloying vanilla scent, had been drifting through the small courtroom all morning.

Gavin stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the linoleum floor.

“That is impossible,” he said.

His hand gripped the edge of the defense table so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Sit down, Mr. Rourke,” Judge Beckett said without looking up from the page.

Gavin remained standing for a second before Dane grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back into his seat.