Chapter 8 - The Trial and the Fall
The legal battle that followed was swift and ruthless.
With the mountain thermal video, the directional audio recordings, and the financial audit provided by Dominic’s team, Michael’s legal defense team dissolved within weeks.
Ashley Monroe entered a guilty plea to secondary conspiracy charges, agreeing to testify against Michael in exchange for a twelve-year sentence.
Two months later, I sat in the front row of the Maricopa County District Court, holding my father’s hand on one side and Dominic’s on the other.
Michael stood before the judge in an orange jumpsuit, his hair shaggy, his wrists chained to a leather belly belt. Without his expensive suits and high-priced stylists, he looked small. Pathetic.
"Michael Carter," the judge announced, her voice booming through the silent courtroom. "For the charge of attempted premeditated murder, corporate embezzlement, and grand fraud, I sentence you to forty-five years at the Sterling Correctional Facility, without the possibility of parole for the first thirty years."
Michael slumped in his chair. As the guards turned him around to lead him out toward the holding cells, his eyes caught mine.
He looked at my stomach—now fully round and heavy at thirty-seven weeks—and then he looked at Dominic standing beside me, his arm resting protectively behind my chair.
Michael opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. The heavy steel doors banged shut behind him, closing the curtain on his life forever.
Outside the courthouse, reporters swarmed the marble steps, cameras flashing incessantly.
"Mrs. Carter! How do you feel about the verdict?"
"Emily! What will you do with Carter Financial?"
Dominic stepped in front of the media mob like an impenetrable wall, shielding me from the shouting journalists. He raised one hand, his cold gaze sweeping over the crowd until the noise died down.
"Mrs. Vance has no comment," Dominic declared in a voice that commanded immediate obedience. "Back up and clear a path."
The reporters instantly parted like the Red Sea.
As we reached the waiting vehicle, I paused on the steps, taking a deep breath of the crisp spring air. The sun was shining over the mountains, melting the last remnants of winter snow.
"You don't have to call me Mrs. Vance anymore, Dominic," I said, turning to face him.
He held the car door open for me, looking down at me with those intense grey eyes that no longer frightened me at all.
"What should I call you?" he asked softly.
May you like
"Emily," I smiled. "Just Emily."
A faint, rare smile touched his scar-lined jaw. "Get in the car, Emily. You've got a baby to deliver."
