I thought taking a night cleaner job at my ex's company was my final humiliation—until his assistant pulled me under his desk to hear the truth.

The courtroom dissolved into utter chaos.

"Order!" Judge Harrison slammed his gavel down three times, the wood cracking like pistol shots. "Mr. Cruz, sit down! Mr. Fenwick, you will remain where you are!"

Travis looked around the room like a cornered animal. For five years, he had operated under the belief that money, charm, and sheer ruthlessness made him invulnerable. He had treated the legal system like a game of chess where he owned all the pieces.

Now, the board had stripped his king.

The two federal marshals stepped forward from the back of the courtroom, flashing their credentials to the judge’s bailiff.

"Your Honor," the lead marshal said calmly, "we have an active arrest warrant issued by the Southern District of New York for Travis Fenwick, charging him with wire fraud, corporate embezzlement, and falsification of federal financial disclosures."

"This is an ambush!" Travis screamed, lunging toward the swinging gate that separated the well from the gallery. "Eliza set this up! She was in my office last night! She planted this!"

"Mr. Fenwick, step back!" the marshal ordered, his hand resting firmly against the holster at his hip.

I stood beside Marcus, watching Travis with total, unshakeable composure. There was no joy in watching him unravel, only the profound, purifying relief of justice long overdue.

"You think you’ve won?" Travis hissed at me, spit flying from his lips as the marshals grabbed his arms and forced them behind his back. "You’re nothing! You were scrubbing my floors twelve hours ago! You don't have the brains to run Northgate! You’ll lose everything your father built within a year!"

"I didn't take Northgate back to run it alone, Travis," I said, my voice quiet, cutting through his hysterical shouts. "I took it back to return it to the people you stole it from."

The click of the steel handcuffs echoed through Courtroom 402.

Victor sank into his chair, burying his face in his trembling hands, knowing that his cooperation with federal prosecutors was the only thing standing between him and a ten-year sentence in federal prison.

As Travis was dragged down the center aisle, past the rows of stunned spectators and reporters who had caught wind of the breaking scandal, the heavy oak doors opened once more.

Claire stepped into the courtroom.

She held a manila folder in her hands—the physical records of the offshore paper trail Travis had kept in his private residential safe, which she had delivered to federal investigators at dawn.

Travis glared at her as he passed, his face contorted with pure hatred. "You... you traitorous little bitch..."