Judge Holl raised a hand. “Ms. Beckett,” he said sharply, “security is present. Please remain calm.”
Two uniformed officers appeared near the stage, their presence shifting the air.
Victoria’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Her eyes flicked to the exit like she was calculating escape.
But Charleston’s elite didn’t move to help her.
They leaned back.
They watched.
Because in a room built on reputation, the moment your reputation cracks, people are afraid your fall will stain them.
Victoria’s voice broke into something desperate. “Gerald,” she pleaded, switching again, “you know I love you. You know I did this for us.”
My father’s face tightened. “You did it for you,” he said.
The officers stepped closer.
Judge Holl’s voice carried over the room. “Ms. Beckett,” he said, “based on the evidence presented, law enforcement will be conducting a formal investigation immediately.”
Victoria’s mouth opened—then shut.
Her eyes landed on me.
Pure hate.
“You did this,” she whispered.
I met her gaze, calm as the ocean outside my house. “You did it,” I replied. “I just stopped you from hiding it.”
The officers guided her toward the exit.