The trial started on a Monday in late October.
Cold air clung to the steps of the federal courthouse in Lower Manhattan, sharp and biting, the kind that settled into your bones and stayed there. It matched the mood. Tense. Expectant. Unforgiving.
The courthouse was already overflowing before the doors even opened.
Media everywhere. Cameras flashing. Reporters speaking in quick, urgent bursts into microphones. People pressed against barricades, craning their necks for a glimpse of the man at the center of it all.
A Castellano.
To them, that name wasn't a person. It was a headline. A scandal. A story that had already been written before a single piece of evidence had been heard.
And today, they were here to watch it burn.
Sienna kept her head down as she stepped inside, her fingers curled tightly around her bag. Marcus walked beside her, steady and silent, a grounding presence. Jennifer had gone ahead earlier, preparing for what would easily be the biggest fight of her career.
