“Cassandra?” Sarah asked, her hand on my shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“He has fake therapy records,” I said.

“He’s going to leak them.”

“We’ll file a motion to seal and an injunction against the media,” Sarah said.

“But we have to act fast.”

We walked out of the courtroom and into the bright, fluorescent-lit hallway.

The rain was still beating against the high windows at the end of the corridor.

Sloane Pierce was standing by the elevators.

She was on her phone, her voice hushed but intense.

“We have the draft ready,” Sloane was saying into the receiver.

“Run the story on the local feed first.”

She saw us approaching and immediately stopped talking.

She lowered her phone, her eyes locking onto mine.

There was no warmth in her face, only a cold, calculated stare.

“We’re leaving, Sloane,” I said as we walked past her.

She didn’t reply.

She just pressed the button for the elevator again, her finger tapping impatiently.

We walked down the stairs instead.

My mind was racing.

I knew Gavin had a personal account in the Cayman Islands, but we had never been able to prove it.