Chapter 6 - The Final Boardroom
Six months later. The federal courthouse downtown was swarming with reporters. It was the sentencing day for Grant Mercer. I didn't have to be there. My lawyers had handled everything. The fraud charges against me had been completely dismissed months ago, thanks to Adrian's evidence. But I needed to go. I needed to close the door myself.
I wore a sharp, tailored white suit. Adrian walked beside me, his hand resting securely on the small of my back. We ignored the flashbulbs and the shouted questions as we walked up the marble steps. Inside the courtroom, the air was stale. Grant was sitting at the defense table. He looked older. The arrogant posture was gone. His hair was thinning. The bespoke suits had been replaced by a standard-issue prison jumpsuit for the duration of the trial, though today he was allowed a suit. It hung loosely on him.
When he heard the doors open, he turned around. His eyes locked onto mine. Then they shifted to Adrian. Pure, unadulterated hatred flared in his expression, but there was nothing he could do. He was a king without a kingdom.
The judge entered. The proceedings were swift. Grant had taken a plea deal to avoid a longer sentence, throwing Savannah under the bus in the process. She had retaliated by providing even more evidence against him. "Mr. Mercer," the judge said, peering over his glasses. "Your actions demonstrate a complete disregard for the law, your employees, and your own family. You orchestrated a massive fraud and attempted to frame the mother of your children to escape consequences." Grant stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched. "I sentence you to fifteen years in federal prison, without the possibility of early parole."
The gavel slammed down. It sounded like a gunshot. It sounded like freedom. The bailiffs moved in to handcuff him. As they led him down the aisle toward the side door, he passed our row. He stopped. "You took everything from me," he sneered at Adrian. Adrian didn't flinch. He didn't gloat. He simply looked at Grant with the cold indifference one might reserve for a stain on the sidewalk. "You gave it all away, Grant," Adrian replied quietly. "I just caught what you threw out."
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Grant's eyes darted to me. "They're my kids, Claire. You can't erase me." I stood up. I looked at the man who had tried to destroy me, the man who had brought his mistress into my bed while I was carrying his children. "I don't have to erase you, Grant," I said, my voice steady and clear. "You erased yourself." The bailiff tugged on his arm. "Let's go." I watched the door close behind him. The chapter was over. The book was shut.
Outside the courthouse, the spring sun was shining brightly. The Chicago wind whipped my hair around my face. Adrian pulled me into his side, wrapping his coat around my shoulders. "How do you feel?" he asked. I took a deep breath of the crisp air. "Lighter. Like I can finally fly." He smiled down at me, and for the first time in public, he leaned down and kissed me. Not a polite peck. A real, deep, grounding kiss that told the cameras and the world exactly who we were. "Let's go home," he murmured against my lips. "The kids are waiting."
