The courtroom buzzed with tension as news crews assembled outside, their cameras pointed squarely at the woman once called a miracle.
Lucia Whitaker sat in the defendant's chair, her hair sleek, her eyes sharp. No tears this time. No bandages. Just defiance.
Elaine watched from her office across the sea, livestream window minimized but ready. She had debated not watching. But closure wasn't passive.
The judge entered. The murmurs quieted.
“Ms. Whitaker," the prosecutor began, “you orchestrated one of the most elaborate personal defamation campaigns in recent philanthropic history. Do you have anything to say?"
Lucia rose slowly. “Everything I did, I did to protect the people I loved."
The gallery scoffed.
The prosecutor smiled. “Then let the record show that your love cost millions.
