Her sister burned down her estate when she refused to give up the venue for free—unaware her parents were in the hospital hallway covering up attempted murder.

The trial took place six months later in the Superior Court of Mecklenburg County.

The courtroom was packed to capacity. Media outlets from across the state had descended upon Charlotte to cover what local newspapers dubbed "The High-Society Arson Scandal."

Seated at the defense table was Fallon. She no longer wore designer dresses or expensive jewelry. She wore an orange jumpsuit, her hair pulled back plainly, her face devoid of makeup. She refused to look in my direction as I took the witness stand.

Marcus Vance guided me through my testimony with surgical precision.

He didn't need to raise his voice or resort to theatrical dramatics. He simply projected the thermal security footage from my studio's back entrance onto the massive courtroom screens.

The entire gallery watched in absolute silence as the high-definition video played.

They saw Fallon and Xander breaking into my property. They heard every harsh, entitled word she screamed. They watched her pick up the antique oil lamp, ignite the wick, and hurl it directly into the archive room. They watched her and Xander turn and run, leaving me trapped in a wall of fire.

When the video ended, the courtroom let out a collective, horrified gasp.

Fallon buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent, desperate sobs.

When it was time for cross-examination, her defense attorney—a high-priced court-appointed lawyer trying to salvage an unwinnable case—attempted a desperate Hail Mary.

"Ms. Carter," the defense lawyer asked smoothly, standing before the podium. "Isn't it true that your sister was suffering from severe emotional distress at the time? That this was merely a tragic family dispute gone wrong, rather than a calculated act of violence?"

I looked down at the lawyer, then turned my gaze directly toward Fallon.

"My sister was suffering from an acute addiction to entitlement," I said clearly, my voice echoing through the silent courtroom. "She spent thirty years believing that the rules of society, law, and basic human decency did not apply to her because my parents always shielded her from consequences. The fire wasn't a dispute. It was the inevitable explosion of a person who believed she was entitled to everything I built—even my life."

The lawyer had no further questions.

Three hours later, the jury returned with their verdict.

Guilty on all counts: Arson in the first degree, attempted second-degree murder, breaking and entering, and malicious destruction of property.

As the judge slammed his gavel down, sentencing Fallon Carter to twelve years in federal prison without the possibility of parole for the first six, she let out a piercing wail of absolute despair that echoed off the courtroom walls.