The judge, a stern woman with zero tolerance for frivolous litigation, spent three minutes reading the file. She looked up, adjusted her glasses, and stared at Julian with open, unadulterated disgust.
“Mr. Sterling,” the judge said, her voice echoing in the quiet courtroom. “The only creative energy you have demonstrated here is your profound delusion. This lawsuit is baseless, harassing, and frankly, insulting to the court. Case dismissed with prejudice. And you will be paying Ms. Rostova’s legal fees in full.”
Julian stood there, his jaw slack, the remaining shreds of his pretentious ego dissolving into dust. He looked at me, his eyes pleading, searching for the woman who used to pay his bills. I didn’t look back. I simply gathered my files and walked out of the courtroom, leaving him to suffocate in the vacuum he had created.
I threw myself back into my work. My firm flourished. I won the bid for the museum. I expanded my team. I forgot about the Sterlings entirely.
Until exactly one year later, when a very specific, heavy legal envelope landed on my sleek glass desk.