Cross made his first mistake.
He put Marcus Webb on the stand again.
And Sterling asked the question that broke him.
---
The courtroom was packed.
Journalists. Spectators. Curiosity seekers.
Cross sat at the plaintiff's table, his face carved from stone.
Marcus Webb sat in the witness box, his hands trembling.
Sterling stood at the podium.
"Dr. Webb, you've already testified that Damien Moreau assaulted you."
"That's correct."
"You've testified that you suffered emotional distress."
"Yes."
"You've testified that you've been unable to work."
"That's also correct."
Sterling nodded.
"Then help me understand something."
---
Sterling walked toward the witness box.
"You're a therapist. You treat patients with trauma. You've written papers on burnout and PTSD."
"I have."
"So you understand the mind. You understand fear. You understand what happens when someone is pushed too far."
"I understand all of that."
"Then you also understand that your patient, Christabel Moreau, was in a fragile state when she came to you."
Marcus shifted in his seat.
"She was vulnerable."
"She was lost."
Sterling stopped in front of him.
"Dr. Webb, did you ever discuss Christabel Moreau's therapy sessions with anyone outside of your professional relationship?"
Marcus's face didn't change.
But his hands tightened on the armrest.
"I'm bound by patient confidentiality."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know what you asked."
"Then answer."
The room was silent.
The judge watched.
The jury watched.
Cross watched.
Marcus looked at Sterling.
"No."
"No, you never discussed her sessions?"
"No."
Sterling smiled.
"Then why do we have records of your phone calls with Victor Cross?"
---
Marcus went pale.
"Victor Cross?"
"The man funding your lawsuit. The man sitting at the plaintiff's table."
"I don't know anyone named Victor Cross."
Sterling walked to the evidence table.
Picked up a folder.
Walked back to Marcus.
Opened it.
Photographs. Marcus and Victor Cross. Meeting at a café. Three months ago. Six months ago. Nine months ago.
Marcus stared at the photographs.
"That's not—"
"It's you. It's Victor Cross. It's a café three blocks from your office."
"I was there for a different reason."
"What reason?"
Marcus was silent.
Sterling leaned closer.
"Let me tell you what I think happened."
"I don't care what you think."
"Victor Cross lost everything. His company. His wealth. His reputation. He watched Damien and Christabel Moreau build an empire from the ashes of his failure."
Marcus didn't speak.
"He wanted revenge. But he also wanted money. He's down to his last $48 million. That sounds like a lot. But for a man who was worth billions, it's nothing."
"Good for him."
"So he needed a way to get money back. He couldn't sue directly. The merger was legal. The acquisition was fair. So he found someone else. Someone who could sue."
Marcus's jaw tightened.
"Someone like you, Dr. Webb. A therapist with a grudge. A man who was beaten by a powerful client. A man who could claim emotional distress. A man who could ask for millions."
"You're making things up."
"Am I?"
Sterling pulled out another document.
Bank records. Wire transfers. Payments from shell companies to Marcus Webb's personal account.
"You've been receiving money. Lots of money. Money that doesn't come from your practice. Money that doesn't come from insurance. Money that comes from Victor Cross."
Marcus stared at the documents.
His face was white.
"I didn't know."
"You didn't know who was paying you?"
"I thought it was a settlement advance."
"A settlement advance of $200,000?"
The room buzzed.
The judge banged her gavel.
"Order. Order in the court."
Marcus looked like he was going to be sick.
Sterling pressed on.
"Dr. Webb, did you or did you not enter into an agreement with Victor Cross to fabricate your claims against Damien Moreau?"
"No."
"Did you or did you not agree to testify falsely in exchange for payment?"
"No."
"Did you or did you not conspire to defraud the court?"
"No."
Sterling nodded.
"Then you won't mind if we subpoena your financial records. Your phone records. Your email records."
Marcus didn't answer.
"Because if you're telling the truth, you have nothing to hide."
---
Marcus looked at Cross.
Cross's face was unreadable.
Marcus looked back at Sterling.
"I want a lawyer."
"You have a lawyer. He's paid for by Victor Cross."
"I want a different lawyer."
"That can be arranged."
Sterling walked back to the podium.
"Nothing further, Your Honor."
---
The judge looked at Marcus.
"You're dismissed, Dr. Webb. For now."
Marcus stumbled out of the witness box.
He didn't look at Cross.
He didn't look at anyone.
He just walked.
---
Damien watched from the defense table.
His face was calm.
But his hands were clenched.
Christabel sat beside him.
She took his hand.
"You're squeezing too hard."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"I'm angry."
Cross leaned over to his lawyer.
Whispered something.
The lawyer nodded.
The judge called a recess.
---
Jax was waiting in the hallway.
"So, that went well."
"Did it?"
"Marcus looked like he was about to cry. Cross looked like he was about to murder someone. I call that a successful morning."
Zoe appeared.
"Maya tripped over a camera cable."
"Is she okay?"
"She's fine. She's currently arguing with a journalist about the quality of their photography."
"Of course she is."
---
Tara walked up with coffee.
"I don't know much about courtroom dramas," she said. "But that was intense."
"It was."
"Drink."
She handed cups to Damien and Christabel.
They drank.
---
That night, Christabel put Lena to bed.
Not Damien. Her.
Lena was practicing her walking.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
"Da," she said.
"Dada."
"Da da da."
Christabel laughed.
"Your father would be so proud."
Lena smiled.
Then she fell.
Then she got up.
Then she kept walking.
---
Damien appeared in the doorway.
"She's getting better."
"She's determined."
"She's yours."
"She's ours."
He walked to her.
Put his arm around her.
"Today was a good day."
"Today was a hard day."