not miss a single beat. He stood up, towering over the mahogany table, looking like a lethal corporate predator. “Mr. Callum all Alaric said smoothly, holding up the thick criminal complaint folder. I am so incredibly glad you decided to join us. As an active, willing participant in the physical barricade that unlawfully prevented emergency medical transport for a dying patient on Sunday, the district attorney has officially listed you as an unindicted co-conspirator in the felony endangerment charges. Your personal assets will also be subject to a severe civil hold pending the criminal trial. Callum’s jaw dropped open. The aggressive bullying swagger vanished instantly. He looked at the thick folder in Allaric’s hand, then looked at the frozen, paused video of Vad suffocating on the massive television screen. He realized in a fraction of a second that his blind loyalty to Una was about to cost him his freedom,

his job, and his money. I did not touch that machine. Callum yelled, his voice drill with sudden desperate panic. He backed away toward the glass doors, holding his hands up. I told them we should call an ambulance. Bellamy did this. Anuna told us to stand in front of the SUV. I am not going to jail for these crazy women. You traitor. Bellamy shrieked, jumping up from her chair and pointing a shaking finger at her own cousin. You stood there laughing with us. You said she was being dramatic. I am out. Callum shouted, turning around and violently pushing past the two ants who were now looking on in sheer terror. I am calling my own lawyer. You people are insane. He sprinted out of the office,

abandoning his family the very second the fire got too hot. The ants immediately followed him, muttering frantically that they had nothing to do with the driveway incident, sprinting toward the elevators to save themselves. The impenetrable, terrifying wall of 11 relatives that had surrounded my car just days ago had shattered into terrified, selfish, cowardly pieces. Declan watched his cousin run away. He watched his mother sobbing on the floor. He watched his sister realizing her influencer career was dead. Declan slowly slid out of his chair. He felt his knees on the expensive rug. He clasped his hands together in front of his chest, looking up at me with red, pathetic eyes. Sloan Declan wept, heavy tears rolling down his cheeks. I am so sorry. I was scared of Bellamy.

I was scared of my mom. You know how they are. I did not want Vader to get hurt. Please, I am her father. Do not take my daughter away from me. Do not take my house. I have nowhere else to go. Please, I will do anything. I stood up from my chair. I looked down at the empty shell of a man kneeling at my feet. You are not a father, Declan, I said, my voice ringing with undeniable finality. A father does not record his daughter dying for internet clout. A father steps in front of the sledgehammer. I picked up my briefcase. I stepped gracefully around his kneeling body. I did not look back at him. I walked toward the glass doors. Alaric packed up his documents,

looking extremely satisfied with the carnage. The police are waiting for you down in the lobby, Miss Bellamy. All Alaric informed her cheerfully as he buttoned his bespoke jacket. I suggest you hold out your wrists when you get off the elevator. It makes the steel handcuffs go on much smoother. I walked out of the conference room, leaving the sound of their screaming, crying, and desperate begging echoing behind me. I did not feel a rush of adrenaline. I felt light. I felt like I had finally cut out a malignant tumor that had been slowly draining the life out of my family for two decades. There is a prevalent myth that television and movies teach people about justice. The myth is that justice happens in a single dramatic moment in a crowded courtroom accompanied by a booming gavvel and swelling background music. Real justice, the kind that permanently alters lives and burns toxic empires to the ground, is far less cinematic and far more brutal. Real consequences accumulate slowly, day by day, systematically stripping away everything the guilty hold dear until they are left with nothing but the smoldering wreckage of their own terrible choices. I stood in the polished marble lobby of Allaric’s building and watched the police officers walk Bellamy through the spinning glass doors. She was in heavy steel handcuffs. Her designer silk blouse was wrinkled and her expertly applied makeup was ruined by genuine hysterical tears. Because Allaric’s building housed high-profile corporate firms, the lobby was full of people. Several of

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