Chapter 10

The case ran nearly three months.

Three months in which I went from barely sleeping, nauseous, undone — to being able to sit across from a judge and lay evidence out clearly, steadily, without flinching.

It stripped something off me. It hurt. But underneath it, something denser was growing.

On the final day, Conrad could barely look at me.

Elliot presented the full chain: I was the purchaser, the paying party, the person with clear purchase intent — backed by documents, testimony, and CCTV. Harper Sterling was a nominal owner created through a forged power of attorney, entered into with deceptive intent and in bad faith. Harper herself had taken the stand and confirmed, under oath, that she'd known the funds had not been hers, and that she'd accepted the registration and the use of my belongings.

Conrad said the same phrase over and over.

"I only wanted to handle things properly."

I sat at the claimant's table and thought: yes. He did want to handle things. He wanted to handle me into a position where I'd never fight back.

He miscalculated.

The verdict.

Sadie was crouched outside the courtroom, more visibly terrified than I was.

I was oddly still.

It wasn't that I didn't care. It was that I'd been prepared for every outcome.

Win, I accept it.

Lose, I accept that too.

But I will not retreat.

Elliot came out steady.

He walked up to me, looked at me for two seconds, and handed me the judgment.

"You won."

I didn't reach for it.

"Just say it."

"Confirmed: beneficial ownership of the property belongs to you. Title correction ordered. Costs and losses to be covered by the defendants. The document fraud element is referred for separate criminal proceedings."

I stood there.

I didn't move for several seconds.

Not because I hadn't heard.

Because I'd heard too clearly.

So clearly that it didn't feel real.

Sadie screamed and jumped up and grabbed me.

"Stella! You got it back! You actually got it back!"

My eyes burned.

Not grief.

Finally.

I looked down at the judgment, and the tears dropped onto the page one by one.

Not from pain this time.

Because I had fought with everything I had, and I had taken back what was mine.

I was crying properly by now — not very graceful. Elliot stood beside me and passed me a tissue, without any of the usual things people say: don't cry, it's over now.

He said, very quietly:

"You worked hard."

Three words. That was all.

And they made me cry harder.

Because only I knew what these three months had cost me.