Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dominic
The courtroom was suffocating.
Rows of polished wooden benches were filled to capacity, every seat occupied by high-profile investors, reporters, and industry figures who had come to witness the downfall of Gerald Knox.
Cameras flashed through the thick glass walls that separated the press from the main floor, their lenses locked on me as I walked toward my seat at the defendant’s table, shoulders back, gaze steady.
I had faced thousands of cameras before—on stage, on red carpets, in press conferences where my words were rehearsed and scripted to maintain an image I had spent years perfecting.
But today, there was no script. No team of PR specialists waiting in the wings to spin this in my favor. This wasn’t just about reputation.
This was about justice.
For my parents.
For the company Knox had tried to steal from me.
For everything he had taken and destroyed.
Theo sat beside me, his expression unreadable as he smoothed out his tie and opened his laptop.
Grace was just behind us, standing near the back of the room, her arms crossed, her face neutral—but I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled ever so slightly, as if resisting the urge to reach for a weapon that wasn’t there.
She didn’t trust Knox.
Neither did I.
He was sitting across the aisle, flanked by his team of lawyers, looking completely at ease. The bastard had always been good at playing the part, at masking his desperation with a smirk, a sharp suit, and an air of arrogance that he hadn’t earned.
But I saw it.
The slight twitch in his fingers. The way his jaw flexed when the bailiff called the court to order. The barely-there crease in his forehead when the judge entered the room.
For the first time, Knox wasn’t in control.
And he knew it.
The trial began with the usual formalities—introductions, procedural statements, legal jargon that barely registered in my mind. The prosecution laid out their case in clean, concise points, presenting documents, emails, financial records that proved Knox’s fraudulent dealings within my company.
Then they played the recordings.
Grace’s recordings.
The ones she had nearly died for.
The ones that had sealed his fate before this trial even started.
Knox’s voice filled the courtroom, crackling over the speakers. Cold. Calculated. Unmistakable.
"Beethoven won’t know what hit him."
"Once we cut off his investors, he’ll have no choice but to fold."
"He doesn’t deserve it."
The room was silent as the final words echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the walls like a death sentence.
Knox’s own words.
His own confession.
For the first time, he looked genuinely uneasy. His fingers twitched against the table, his lawyer whispered something in his ear, but he wasn’t listening anymore. He was staring at me.
I met his gaze, unflinching.
He knew.
It was over.
The prosecution continued, calling witness after witness, laying down every piece of the puzzle, every corrupt transaction, every threat, every illegal move Knox had made in his attempt to strip me of everything my parents had built.
And then it was his turn.
His lawyer stood, trying to turn the argument in his favor, spinning some bullshit narrative about how Knox had been a faithful employee, how he had only ever wanted to protect the company, how he had been pushed out unfairly.
I almost laughed.
But then Knox stood.
And his mask finally cracked.
“This company should have been mine,” he said, his voice sharp, his words measured.
“I built it. I was the one keeping it afloat when his father was making reckless investments. I was the one ensuring its future. And then he—” His glare cut toward me, pure venom.
“Then he came back and took what he never even wanted.”
The judge gave him a warning look, but he wasn’t stopping.
“You don’t deserve it,” Knox snarled.
I leaned back in my chair, calm, steady, every nerve in my body humming with the victory that was already mine.
“And yet,” I said smoothly, “here we are.”
Knox’s hands curled into fists.
His lawyer looked ready to strangle him.
The jury looked unimpressed.
And when the judge called for closing statements, I already knew the outcome.
It didn’t take long.
The jury deliberated for just under an hour before the verdict came in.
Guilty.
The word rang through the courtroom like a gunshot, final and inescapable.
Knox didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink.
But I saw it.
The way his shoulders stiffened. The way his fingers twitched. The way he clenched his jaw so hard, I swore I heard his teeth grind.
The guards moved in to escort him out, cuffs locking around his wrists with a sharp click.
He turned his head, just slightly, his gaze finding me one last time.
“This isn’t over,” he murmured under his breath.
I smirked. “It is for you.”
They dragged him away.
And just like that—it was done.
I barely registered the noise that erupted in the courtroom after that—reporters scrambling for their phones, murmurs from investors who had once doubted me, my legal team shaking hands and celebrating the victory.
I stood slowly, my muscles still tight, my body still wound like I was waiting for another blow.
But there wasn’t one.
Not anymore.
Theo turned to me, adjusting his tie, looking smug. “Told you we had it in the bag.”
Ezra clapped me on the shoulder. “About time we got rid of that asshole.”
Jaden and Riley grinned, already talking about a celebration.
And then I looked toward the back of the courtroom.
Grace was still there.
Still watching.
Her eyes met mine, steady and unreadable, and I felt it—the weight of what she had done for me, the risks she had taken, the way she had never once backed down.
She gave me a small nod. Just that. No words.
And somehow, that meant more than anything.
I stepped outside, the courthouse doors swinging open to the blinding sunlight, and was immediately swarmed by reporters.
“Mr. Beethoven, how does it feel to have won?”
“Do you have a message for Gerald Knox?”
“What’s next for you and your company?”
Flashes went off. Cameras pointed in my face. Questions came at me from every direction.
I took a slow breath.
And then I smiled.
Because for the first time in years—I was finally free.