Priya leaned forward and tapped my shoulder, showing me her screen.

It was a social media post from Celeste’s personal public relations firm.

The statement announced her immediate separation from Bennett Whitlock and her resignation from any association with his ventures.

She was saving herself, leaving him to drown in the storm he had created.

Bennett’s lawyer was frantically whispering to him, gesturing toward the back exit.

The district attorney’s office had sent an observer to the hearing, a young woman in a grey suit who was now speaking on her phone.

The shadow of a grand larceny indictment was hanging over him.

We walked out of the courtroom and into the marble hallway.

The air was thick with the scent of wet umbrellas and polished stone.

A crowd of reporters was already gathering at the far end of the corridor.

“We should use the private elevator,” Julian said, guiding me by the elbow.

Priya followed close behind, her eyes still glued to her phone.

Suddenly, her phone emitted a sharp, high-pitched alert.

She stopped walking, her boots sliding on the smooth floor.