Grandpa left me $5 million, so my estranged parents sued me, claiming he was “mentally unfit.” In court, my dad whispered, “You really thought you’d get away with it?” I stayed silent. Then, Judge Reyes looked at me and froze. “Wait…Are you Ethan Carter?” he asked. My parents’ smug smiles vanished instantly when the judge stood up and revealed the terrifying truth about how he knew me…

I walked in alone.

My parents were already there, standing near the metal detectors. They looked like royalty in exile. Diana was wearing a white coat that screamed ‘innocence,’ and Mark was checking his watch with an air of bored irritation.

When they saw me, the temperature in the lobby seemed to drop ten degrees.

Diana didn’t wave. She didn’t say hello. She just smirked—a tiny, curling of the lip that said, You’re out of your depth, little boy.

Mark leaned in as I passed, his voice a low hiss. “You really thought you’d get away with it? Stealing from us?”

I kept walking, staring straight ahead. “I didn’t steal anything, Father.”

“He was sick!” Mark snapped, loud enough for a security guard to look over. “He didn’t know what he was doing, and you took advantage of him. You’re pathetic.”

I pushed through the double doors of Courtroom 4B, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The room was heavy with the scent of old wood and anxiety. I took my seat at the defendant’s table next to Glenn. On the other side, Vance Clydesdale was arranging his papers with the precision of a surgeon preparing for an amputation.

“All rise!” the bailiff bellowed.

The door behind the bench opened, and Judge Malcolm Reyes entered.

He was a terrifying figure. Tall, with graying hair cropped close and eyes that seemed to see through walls. He moved with a sharp, efficient energy. He didn’t look like a man who tolerated nonsense.

He sat down, adjusting his robes, and opened the file in front of him.