The weeks that followed the incident at the Alps Arena were a blur of sterile legal proceedings and sensationalist media reports. I experienced it all from a clinical distance, as if watching a case study unfold on a screen. Jaxon wasn't a ghost in my life anymore; he was a headline, a legal file, a cautionary tale.
My lawyer, a sharp, no-nonsense woman from Zurich, handled everything. Jaxon was deported within seventy-two hours. His assault on Viktor, captured by at least a dozen phone cameras, combined with the clear violation of the American restraining order and the terms of his visa, created an open-and-shut case. There was no trial in Switzerland, just a swift administrative removal.
He landed back in the US not to a hero's welcome, but to a swarm of process servers and reporters.
