Chapter 6
The trial started three months later, the Dallas courthouse packed with reporters and curious onlookers.
The prosecution went first, laying out their case step by step.
They played the hidden camera footage from the night of the assault, the whole courtroom going quiet as Ethan’s fist connected with my jaw, as they dragged me to the sitting room and laughed about running away to Miami.
They showed the spreadsheets, the fake invoices, the $2.3 million Ethan had siphoned from the company.
They called Maria to the stand, and she told the jury about seeing Carol put something in dad’s tea, about the threats Ethan had made against her granddaughter, her voice shaking but strong.
Then the defense got up.
Their lawyer tried to paint me as a spoiled, greedy heiress who’d faked the video, who’d paid Maria to lie, who’d hated her stepfamily so much she’d destroy their lives to get her father’s money all to herself.
He called me to the stand, and for three hours he grilled me, yelling, twisting my words, trying to make me look like a liar.
I thought of dad. Of his letter. Of how proud he’d be that I was standing up for us.
I answered every question calm and steady, my voice clear, looking the jury right in the eye.
When I got off the stand, Jake was waiting for me by the door, his hand brushing mine for half a second, a silent you did good that made my cheeks warm.
That night, Agent Miller called me, her voice urgent.
“Ethan cut off his ankle monitor,” she said. “We think he’s heading for the airport. There’s a private flight leaving for Brazil in 45 minutes.”
I looked at Jake, who’d heard every word, and he was already grabbing his jacket, his gun holstered at his hip.
“Let’s go,” he said.
We raced to the airport, lights flashing, sirens wailing, Jake driving like a maniac, weaving through Dallas traffic like it was nothing.
We got there just as Ethan was climbing the stairs to the private jet, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his hair a mess, his face wild.
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FBI agents swarmed him before he could take another step, tackling him to the tarmac, reading him his rights as he screamed and fought.
I stood there, Jake’s hand on my shoulder, watching as they led him away in cuffs, and I knew then that there was no way they were going to talk their way out of this.
