The gavel struck once, and the courtroom went still.
Patrice Hawthorne rose from her seat in a white designer suit, looking less like a grieving grandmother and more like a woman preparing to win a business deal. Her diamonds flashed under the courtroom lights. Her voice was smooth, loud, and full of certainty.
“Your Honor, our daughter is dead. Those children belong with us.”
Beside her, Gideon Hawthorne pointed across the room at Caleb Monroe.
“That man married our daughter for money,” he said. “Now he wants our mansion, our name, and our empire.”
Caleb did not shout. He did not defend himself with anger. He simply pulled his three daughters closer. Ayla, Arya, and Amaya sat beside him in matching dresses, their small hands gripping his jacket as if he were the last safe thing left in the world.
Judge Simone Bradshaw leaned forward, her eyes moving past the money, past the lawyers, past the polished lies.
