Chapter 8 - The Sun Will Rise
Six months later.
The courtroom was cold, smelling faintly of old wood and floor wax.
I sat in the front row of the gallery, wearing a sharp, custom-tailored grey suit. Ethan sat next to me, holding a small comic book in his lap, looking entirely bored by the legal proceedings.
Ms. Parker sat on my other side, calmly reviewing some documents.
At the front of the room, Ryan and Claire stood before the judge in matching orange jumpsuits.
The trial hadn't lasted long. Between the mechanic flipping on them for a plea deal, the financial records proving Ryan’s embezzlement, and the audio recording from my living room, the defense had absolutely nothing to stand on.
They looked terrible. Ryan had lost weight; his hair was thinning, and he looked ten years older. Claire had lost all her glamorous shine. Her hair was frizzy, her posture slumped.
“Will the defendants please rise,” the judge ordered.
The courtroom went silent.
“Ryan Vance, on the charges of attempted murder in the first degree and conspiracy, I sentence you to twenty-five years in a state penitentiary, without the possibility of parole.”
Ryan closed his eyes, his head dropping to his chest. He didn't look back at me.
“Claire Sterling,” the judge continued, “on the charge of conspiracy to commit murder, I sentence you to fifteen years.”
Claire let out a loud, pathetic wail, instantly burying her face in her hands as the bailiffs stepped forward to escort them away.
I watched them get led out through the side doors. I felt no pity. I felt no anger. I felt absolutely nothing for them anymore. They were ghosts of a past life I had already left behind.
“Ready to go?” Ms. Parker asked, closing her briefcase.
“More than ready,” I smiled.
We walked out of the courthouse together. The Chicago air was crisp and cool, the sun shining brightly against the towering glass skyscrapers of the city.
My company had recovered and was thriving better than ever. The board had rallied behind me once the truth came out. My assets were completely secured, locked in an ironclad trust for Ethan's future.
We had sold the mansion. It held too many bad memories. Instead, I bought a beautiful, sprawling ranch house out in the suburbs, with a big backyard, a treehouse, and a golden retriever puppy we had adopted the previous weekend.
“Can we get ice cream?” Ethan asked, looking up at me, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“Before lunch?” I raised an eyebrow, pretending to be shocked.
“We survived a murder plot,” Ethan pointed out logically, a mischievous grin on his face. “I feel like that earns ice cream before lunch.”
I couldn't argue with his logic.
“Alright, fine. Double scoops,” I laughed, taking his hand.
As we walked down the stone steps of the courthouse toward the bustling city streets, I squeezed my son’s hand. He squeezed back.
They had tried to put me in the dark forever. They thought I was just an empty body, a stepping stone to their wealth.
They were wrong.
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I had woken up. I had fought back. And as I looked at the bright, open sky above us, I knew one thing for certain.
My eyes were wide open now, and I was never closing them again.
