Sarah leaned over, her shoulder brushing mine.

“He’s completely on his own now,” she whispered.

I nodded, my fingers still gripping my phone.

The plastic case was warm from my hand.

The reality of what had just happened was settling into the room.

Gavin looked across the aisle at me.

His eyes were dark, almost black with resentment.

“You did this,” he muttered.

“Mr. Rourke, watch your mouth,” Judge Beckett warned.

“She set me up, Your Honor,” Gavin said, standing up again.

His chair scraped loudly against the linoleum floor.

“She’s been planning this for months.”

“Mr. Rourke, your wife did not force you to sign those corporate tax returns,” Judge Beckett said.

She stacked a pile of papers on her desk.

The sound of the paper hitting the wood was loud.

“She didn’t force you to hide ownership shares in shell companies.”

“I built that company!” Gavin shouted.

He slammed his palm down on the table.

The bang echoed off the plaster walls.

The bailiff took a step forward, his hand resting near his belt.

Judge Beckett did not flinch.