Verdict of the heart

“Murderer!” “Murderer!” “He deserves to die!” The furious chants battered the Carter mansion without mercy. “Justice for Riverside!” “Lock him up!” “Blood is on his hands!” Protesters packed the entire street, banners raised high above their heads as news cameras captured every second of the spectacle. Police officers struggled to keep the growing crowd behind the barricades while reporters shoved microphones over one another, desperate to be first to catch a glimpse of the man at the center of America’s biggest corporate scandal. Inside the mansion, the noise refused to stay outside it seeped through every wall, every window, every breath. Claire Carter stood in the middle of the living room, staring through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, her fingers curled so tightly around the edge of the curtain that the expensive fabric wrinkled beneath her grip. “Twenty years,” she said, her voice hollow. She let out a humorless laugh before turning toward her husband. “Twenty years, Ethan. You gave that company everything.” Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She took a step closer. “You missed birthdays because of them. You worked through anniversaries.” She shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. “There were nights Isabella had already gone to bed before you came home, and mornings she woke up before you left, because you wanted this family to have a future.” Her chest rose sharply. She pointed toward the front gate, where another chorus of angry voices erupted. “And this is how they repay you?” Ethan stood by the fireplace, phone pressed to his ear. The call disconnected. He dialed another number ……voicemail. Another ……unavailable. Another …….rejected. His jaw tightened. One by one, every person who had once called him a friend disappeared. “Daddy?” The tiny voice cut through the room. Both of them turned. Ten-year-old Isabella stood barefoot at the foot of the staircase, teddy bear clutched tightly against her chest, her wide brown eyes moving from her mother to her father before settling on the crowd outside. Tears gathered almost instantly. “Daddy… why is everyone standing outside our house?” Nobody answered. Her voice trembled. “Why are they calling you a murderer?” For a moment, nobody in the room breathed. Ethan forced his feet to move. He crouched in front of his daughter and gently brushed the loose curls away from her face. “Hey, Princess.” His smile was warm; his eyes weren’t. “Why don’t you go upstairs for Daddy?” “But…” “I just need to sort something out.” She looked between her parents. They never argued. Never raised their voices. Never looked afraid. Today, both of them looked like strangers. “Did you do something bad?” The question lodged itself somewhere inside Ethan’s chest. He cupped her cheek. “No.” His answer came without hesitation. “I didn’t.” “Then why are they angry?” Before he could find the words, Claire crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Isabella. “Sweetheart, go to your room for a little while.” “But…” “Mummy will come and get you soon.” Isabella hesitated, then nodded. She dragged her teddy bear behind her as she climbed the stairs, glancing back every few steps. Only when her bedroom door clicked shut did Claire’s composure finally crack. She turned sharply. “There has to be something we’ve missed.” She grabbed the stack of documents covering the coffee table and flipped through them with frantic hands, pages slipping onto the floor. “There has to be something.” “There isn’t.” “Don’t do that.” She threw the file aside and reached for her phone. “I’ll call Richard.” “He resigned this morning.” Her hand froze. “…What?” “He wasn’t the only one.” Ethan loosened his tie with unsteady fingers. “The entire board walked out before the market opened.” Claire stared at him, searching his face for the slightest sign that he was joking. “You told me the investors were still standing with us.” “They were.” “What happened?” “They saw the news.” She let out a shaky breath. “So one headline erased twenty years of loyalty?” “It only took one.” The words settled between them like a death sentence. Claire slowly lowered herself onto the sofa. “No. This isn’t over.” She looked up again, hope clinging to her voice. “What about the company accounts?” Ethan didn’t answer. Her expression changed. “…Ethan.” “The bank froze everything.” She laughed not because it was funny, but because her mind refused to accept it. “Our personal accounts too?” He nodded once. She closed her eyes. “And Isabella’s trust fund?” Another nod. This time, she broke. The file slipped from Claire’s fingers and hit the marble floor with a dull thud. She stared at her husband as if she’d forgotten who he was. “No, Ethan.” She rushed toward him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. “You promised me.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “You promised me we’d be okay.” “I know.” “You said nobody could touch what we built. You spent twenty years building that company.” Her voice rose with every word. “You worked yourself sick. You sacrificed everything our family, our time, our lives.” She shoved him hard against the wall. “And now you’re standing here telling me it’s over?” Ethan caught her wrists before she could hit him again. “I’m telling you I’m trying.” “No, you’re not trying. You need to fight. You need to make them listen. You need to prove you’re innocent.” “I am.” “Then why does it feel like you’ve already given up?” The question hung between them, heavy and unforgiving. Ethan looked toward the window. Beyond the gates, hundreds of people wanted to see him destroyed. Inside his own home, the only woman he had ever loved was looking at him with fear for the first time. Then… DING DONG.