Chapter 5 Beneath the Gavel

The first clap of thunder rolled across the Loop just as the courthouse doors slammed behind Julia Landon.

Spring rain fell in long silver spears, flooding curbs and chasing suits into cab hoods. But Julia didn't flinch. She walked down the courthouse steps, heels slicing puddles like scalpels, her trench coat billowing like a black sail behind her.

Inside her briefcase was a motion to freeze Hartley & Rowe's joint accounts.

Inside her mind: war.

The fake prenup Vanessa had never signed was almost burned, but almost wasn't good enough. Now Julia needed to eliminate every remaining piece. She had built her career on control. Precision. Power.

But Vanessa had returned. Jonathan had hesitated.

And Darren-God rest his manipulative soul-had died before tying up loose ends.

She pulled her phone from her coat pocket and dialed.

A voice answered on the third ring. "This line's not secure."

"I don't care," she hissed. "We have a problem. Jonathan and Vanessa are working together."

A pause. Then: "So eliminate the common denominator."

"I will. But I want it clean."

"Always."

She ended the call, shoved the phone back in her pocket, and melted into the wet blur of springtime Chicago.

Jonathan and Vanessa sat in the back of a black Lincoln parked outside the Art Institute.

The rain had soaked through the sleeves of Jonathan's jacket, but his focus was fixed on the flash drive glowing in the car's USB port.

Footage loaded. Three hours of grainy security video from Darren Hayes' penthouse.

Jonathan fast-forwarded until a shadow moved near the apartment entrance.

"There," Vanessa whispered.

The time-stamp read 10:47 p.m.

The figure wore a long coat, hat pulled low, and moved with rehearsed calm.

"That's not me," Vanessa said.

"No. It's-" Jonathan froze. "Wait."

The figure turned slightly. Just enough.

The curve of the cheek. The sharp chin.

Julia.

Vanessa's breath caught.

Jonathan's hand gripped the console. "She killed him."

"She set me up."

"We need to go public."

Vanessa shook her head. "No. She'll twist it. Frame you next. We need proof beyond this. We need to force her to expose herself."

Jonathan narrowed his eyes. "Then we give her exactly what she wants."

Julia returned to her penthouse that afternoon, the scent of peonies drifting in from the concierge vase in the hallway. Her personal assistant had left the evening's files on the glass coffee table, all tabbed and immaculate.

But something felt...off.

She froze at the entryway. Silence pressed against her ribs.

No creaking floorboards. No whirring fridge. No low hum from her air purifier.

Julia stepped cautiously into the living room.

And found her portrait wall slashed.

A single photograph remained intact-one of her and Jonathan in Venice, ten years younger, eyes glowing with ambition. Every other frame was broken. Glass littered the carpet.

Her hands curled into fists. She knew this kind of message.

It wasn't rage.

It was declaration.

Vanessa was striking back.

By midnight, Jonathan stood beneath the rusted awning of a parking garage near Wicker Park, staring across the lot at a silver Lexus idling with tinted windows.

"She came alone," he muttered.

Vanessa, dressed in a navy-blue trench, stepped beside him.

"You're sure this is the burner contact?"

"She used him to leak the prenup and move bribes through Cayman."

Vanessa exhaled. "Let's end this."

They walked slowly across the wet concrete. The door to the Lexus opened.

Inside sat a gaunt man with trembling hands and a voice like gravel.

"You bring what I asked for?" he croaked.

Jonathan slid a thick file onto his lap. "Testimonies. Financial links. Her access logs from Darren's condo."

The man scanned it. His face paled. "This'll burn her entire empire."

"Good," Vanessa whispered. "We want the match lit at dawn."

He nodded once. "She meets her senator friend at the Oakridge Club tomorrow. I'll plant the packet in her briefcase before she goes through security. Once they find it-"

"She's finished," Jonathan said.

Morning broke cold, with streaks of pale sunlight clawing through low clouds.

Julia stepped into the marbled lobby of the Oakridge Club, her heels echoing like gavel knocks. She wore charcoal-gray silk, a brooch at her collar shaped like a serpent eating its own tail.

A staffer offered her espresso. Another handed her the guest itinerary.

She moved like a queen.

Until the guards stopped her at the inner lounge.

"Ma'am, we need to check your bag."

Julia arched a brow. "Since when?"

"Policy update this week."

She handed it over, calm.

The first guard unzipped it. Paused.

Pulled out a leather folder.

Opened it.

Inside: photos of Darren Hayes' corpse, the forged prenup, the flash drive.

And a letter. Addressed to Julia.

She stared at it.

"Miss Landon," the guard said carefully, "you'll need to come with us."

The silence exploded.

Senator Dale stepped from the lounge, his face ash-gray.

"Julia-what is this?"

She said nothing.

Could say nothing.

The snake at her collar glittered under the lights as two guards escorted her toward the elevators.

Jonathan and Vanessa watched the scene unfold from the other side of the street, hidden in the window of a florist's shop.

"She's off the board," Vanessa murmured.

Jonathan exhaled slowly. "You're free."

Vanessa turned to him. "And you?"

He hesitated. "Free-but not untouched."

"I never meant to destroy you, Jonathan. Or us."

"I know. Darren did. Julia helped him. And we... we let ambition blind us."

A pause stretched between them, heavy with history.

Vanessa looked at the flower arrangements behind the glass-peonies, roses, a single white camellia.

"Do you think we ever loved each other the right way?"

Jonathan's voice cracked faintly. "I think we didn't know how."

She reached out, fingers brushing his. "Then maybe now, we start again. Not from memory. But from truth."

Jonathan nodded.

And as the rain stopped, and spring breathed again through the streets of a city built on secrets, they stepped out together-toward whatever came next.