Chapter 66

POV: Isabella

The courtroom was silent, a vast, wood-paneled room that felt more like a tomb than a hall of justice. The air was cold, tasting of floor wax and old paper. I sat at the petitioner’s table, my hands hidden in my lap, trying to stop the high-frequency vibration that was now a permanent part of my existence.

I wasn't in my own clothes. I was in a clinical white dress provided by the Sterling medical wing—a "neutral" garment that made me look like a patient, not a woman.

"All rise," the bailiff announced.

Judge Vance entered the room. He didn't look at me today. He looked at the mountain of paperwork on his desk—the "evidence" of my instability that Eleanor’s team had been filing since 4:00 AM.

"Be seated," Vance said, his voice sounding tired. "We are here for an emergency hearing regarding the guardianship of Isabella Vane. The court has received a motion from the Vane-Sterling Board of Directors to appoint a permanent conservator, citing 'catastrophic biological and psychological degradation' of the subject."

"Your Honor," a sharp, clinical voice said. It was Eleanor’s lead attorney, a man with a face like a hatchet and a voice to match. "The evidence is clear. The footage from the hotel room, the biometric logs from the last twelve hours, and the expert testimony of Dr. Sarah Jenkins all point to one conclusion: Ms. Vane is no longer capable of making decisions for her own welfare. The Medusa interface is failing, and without immediate, involuntary intervention, the results will be fatal."

"And who is the proposed conservator?" Vance asked.

"The board suggests a joint committee," the lawyer said. "Headed by Eleanor Vane and assisted by the Sterling medical board. It is the only way to ensure the security of the intellectual property while preserving the life of the patient."

I looked at the back of the courtroom. Eleanor was there, sitting in the front row, her hands folded over her purse. She looked like a grieving mother, the perfect picture of concerned nobility.

"Does the petitioner have a response?" Vance asked, looking toward my lawyer—a man Liam had hired, but who I hadn't spoken to in hours.

"Your Honor," the lawyer said, standing up. "My client maintains that the 'instability' cited by the board is a direct result of their own manipulation of the cooling systems. We have evidence that the Master Key was used to throttle the core."

"The logs provided by the board contradict that," Vance said, tapping a folder. "They show that the throttle command originated from a device linked to Liam Sterling. If there is manipulation, it appears to be coming from the very person who claims to be her protector."

The room hummed with a sudden, sharp energy. The reporters in the back gallery began to whisper. I felt a cold, jagged spike of betrayal pierce through the numbness of the shunt.

Liam?

"Is Mr. Sterling present?" Vance asked, looking around the room.

"He is not, Your Honor," Eleanor’s lawyer said with a smirk. "It appears the CEO has decided to avoid the fallout of his own failed maneuver."

I felt my heart sink. The silence from the last twenty-four hours finally had a name: cowardice. He had authorized the interface in 2018, and now he was authorizing the collapse in 2026. He wasn't the bridge; he was the trap.

"In that case," Vance said, picking up his gavel. "Given the severity of the medical reports and the apparent absence of any credible opposition to the conservatorship—"

"I object!"

The double doors at the back of the courtroom burst open.

Liam was there. But he didn't look like a CEO. He looked like a man who had walked through a war zone. His suit was wrinkled and stained with rain, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. He was carrying a stack of physical paper—thick, yellowed documents that looked like they had been pulled from a deep-freeze.

"Mr. Sterling," Vance said, his voice rising in warning. "You are not a party to this hearing. You have been stripped of your chairmanship and your proxy."

"I’m not here as a chairman," Liam said, his voice echoing through the chamber, vibrating with a raw, desperate power. "I’m here as the whistleblower. And I’m here to submit the original, un-redacted Vane-Sterling Charter from 1994."

"That document is proprietary!" Eleanor’s lawyer shouted, jumping to his feet.

"It’s a public record now," Liam said, walking down the aisle and slamming the papers onto the judge’s bench. "Because Article 9, Section 4 of this charter states that in the event of a total systemic failure of the medical asset, all rights and guardianship revert not to the family, and not to the board, but to the individual herself—provided she can prove the failure was induced by a secondary party."

"That’s a legal fiction!" Eleanor screamed, her composure finally breaking.

"It’s the law, Eleanor," Liam said, turning to look at her. "The law your husband wrote to protect Isabella from you if he ever died. He knew you’d try this. He built the loophole into the very foundation of the company."

Judge Vance was scanning the documents, his face pale. "This signature... this is Julian Vane’s private seal."

"It is," Liam said. "And I have the digital handshake that proves Eleanor used a duplicate key to throttle the core at 2:00 AM. I didn't bypass the system to hurt her, Your Honor. I bypassed it to record the origin of the attack. I have the IP address, the timestamp, and the biometric signature of the user."

He turned to me then. For the first time, the "Quiet Silence" was gone. His eyes were full of a desperate, pleading love that made the breath catch in my throat.

"I didn't leave you, Isabella," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I was in the archives. I was finding the only thing that could actually set you free."

The courtroom was in chaos now. The reporters were shouting, the lawyers were arguing, and the gavel was banging like a drum.

"Quiet!" Vance roared. "Silence in this court!"

He looked at the papers, then at Eleanor, then at me. "Mr. Sterling, if these documents are what you say they are, then this conservatorship is not only invalid—it’s a criminal conspiracy."

"It is," Liam said. "And I have the DOJ waiting in the lobby to take the evidence."

The cliffhanger came when Eleanor stood up, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. She didn't look at Liam. She looked at Sarah Jenkins.

"Sarah," Eleanor said, her voice a terrifying whisper. "Trigger it. If I can't have the asset, no one will."

Sarah’s hand went to the tablet on her lap. Her thumb hovered over a bright red icon.

"Liam!" I screamed, feeling the heat in my chest surge to a white-hot, blinding point of agony. "She’s... she’s doing it!"

Liam lunged for Sarah, but the guards were already moving.