The sky above Manhattan was silver and impenetrable as the city solidified with sound and fury. In front of the Federal Courthouse, the crowd had gathered since before morning—media, paparazzi, civilians holding signs. Helicopter rotors thumped in the distance, cameras snapping like thunder, microphones thrust in front of anyone who would speak.But inside the courtroom, it was cold.Not temperature-wise.In tension.Kc Page remained beside the prosecution's table, charcoal suit, tight-fitting, shoulders rigid and straight, hands clasped behind him. To his left, Malcolm leaned against the rail of the gallery, all-black, laptop closed for once. Manager Kim, too, was there, reclining in the front row, dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights.They waited.The courtroom doors swung open.Adrian St. Marc entered with two U.S. Marshals in tow. In orange, handcuffed, he was gaunt. Pale. His prison-close-cropped hair did nothing for his receding hairline. But his eyes shone with a s
Last Updated : 2025-06-20 Read more