Maria’s gaze found him. For half a heartbeat, mother and son locked eyes across the packed courtroom. Lewis quickly stood. The wooden bench scraped softly against the floor as he moved past knees and coats, past whispered disbelief. Cameras swiveled instinctively. A few heads turned in confusion, others in dawning recognition. He walked quickly, shoulders squared, pulse steady despite the roar in his ears. When he reached the open space beside the defense rail, he stopped and stood beside Maria. She lifted her hand and rested it lightly against his arm. “Here,” Maria said clearly. “Here is my son.” A murmur rippled through the gallery—sharp and electric. The judge leaned forward slightly. “Young man,” she said, voice even, authoritative. “Step forward.” Lewis did. “What is your name?” the judge asked. Lewis met her eyes. “Lewis Gordon,” he said. The name landed like a dropped glass. He didn’t pause. “I am the biological son of the late Martin G

The bailiffs’ firm grips never wavered as they dragged Samuel forward, his legs stumbling against the polished floor. Behind him, six other detainees—each guilty of their own violent and calculated schemes—were also being hauled toward the exit. Their protests and curses mingled into a chaotic chorus, bouncing off the high ceilings and the cold, imposing walls of the Criminal Court. Samuel’s voice rose above the others, harsh and bitter, every word a venomous lash aimed directly at Lewis and Maria. “You—both of you! Mark my words, you’ll regret this!” He screamed, spittle flying as he twisted against the bailiffs. “I will haunt every step you take! You think this victory is yours? You’re blind to the storm I’m bringing down on you!” Maria’s hands trembled as she tightened her grip on Lewis’s sleeve. Her lips quivered, but she didn’t pull away. Her eyes followed Samuel as if trying to burn his face into memory, every bitter curse hitting her chest like a physical blow.

The low murmur from the front row drifted toward him in broken fragments, weaving through the soft clink of cutlery and the steady hum of the hotel’s air conditioner. “…the entire board is scrambling.” One man said, leaning back in his chair with a scoff, fingers drumming impatiently against the tabletop. “No interim announcement, nothing official. Just panic emails,” Another replied, his voice edged with disbelief. A third voice cut in, quieter but sharper. “Because nobody knows who’s really in charge now.” Lewis’s jaw tightened—barely noticeable unless someone was watching closely. His fingers paused mid-motion, the sandwich hovering inches from his mouth. He didn’t bite. He glanced sideways at Maria. She sat upright across from him, both hands wrapped around her glass of Coca-Cola, condensation dampening her fingers. Her shoulders were tense, her posture careful, like someone bracing for a sudden gust of wind. Her eyes flicked briefly toward the speakers,

Lewis stepped forward, broad shoulders squaring as his shadow fell across the marble threshold. Maria was right behind him, spine straight, jaw tight, eyes blazing with a fury that had been simmering since dawn. He quickly yanked the door open. Evening light spilled in and with it came Carolina. She stepped out of the Tesla Model X, the door slamming shut behind her with unnecessary force. Her heels struck the stone driveway in rapid, angry clicks, each step charged with bitterness. Her face was rigid, lips pressed thin, eyes red-rimmed and burning like coals that refused to cool. Lewis didn’t move aside. He stood planted in front of the doorway, blocking it completely. Maria crossed her arms slowly, her stare cold and unwelcoming. Carolina advanced until she was only a few feet away. Lewis lifted a hand sharply. “Stop right there.” Carolina scoffed, her laugh brittle. “Oh? You think you can stop me from entering my husband’s house?” “Go back,” Lewis sai

She calmly dialed her brother's number. “Hamilton.” She said as soon as he picked up, her voice sharp, strained, and heavy with frustration. “You won’t believe what just happened. Those strangers… the ones trying to take over what belongs to us… they’ve finally succeeded. They’ve taken over our own house. They… they even humiliated me with insults, slaps… and now—they’ve deprived me of using our own cars.” Her voice cracked at the edge of rage and disbelief. “You know my husband is at the Brooklyn Detention Center, right? All because of these same people… trying so hard to claim what doesn’t belong to them. Can you imagine?” Hamilton’s voice came through the speaker, tight and incredulous. “I’ve already seen it on CNN live… the debate’s still going on. And get this—they’ve sentenced Samuel to fifteen years in prison. Fifteen years!” Carolina’s breath hitched, and she squeezed the phone harder. “Fifteen years?” “Yes. Unbelievable!” Hamilton said, his tone grim.