Gavin half-stood from his chair, his hands slamming onto the mahogany table.

“Sloane, sit down,” Gavin hissed, his voice carrying through the quiet courtroom.

“Mr. Rourke, sit down,” Judge Beckett warned, her voice sharp as a whip.

“She stole that,” Gavin said, ignoring the judge, his eyes burning into Sloane. “That is corporate property. You will be ruined for this, Sloane.”

“Mr. Rourke, I will find you in contempt of this court if you speak again,” Judge Beckett said, her gavel hovering over its block.

Gavin slowly sank back into his chair, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.

He turned his gaze to me, a promise of absolute destruction in his eyes.

I didn’t blink.

For the first time in two years, I didn’t feel afraid of him.

“Bailiff, please retrieve the drive from Ms. Pierce,” Judge Beckett ordered.

The bailiff walked down the aisle, took the black plastic drive from Sloane’s trembling hand, and carried it up to the bench.

Judge Beckett held the drive between two fingers, looking at it under the fluorescent light.