Jason believed his own myth—recited it like scripture.
He walked the aisle with the confidence of a man arriving at a board meeting instead of a courtroom. He looked every inch the power player—angular features, hair slicked back, the faint bruise on his lip only sharpening the dangerous edge. A few women in the gallery gasped softly—half scandal, half fascination. Jason caught it and smiled. Untouchable.
He took his seat beside his Denver attorney with practiced ease. Across the aisle, the DA sat rigid, papers stacked in precise order.
Sheriff Burke Scott and Deputy Scout Wilson kept their eyes forward, every muscle tight with restraint. At the back, Agent Tessa Quinn of the NC SBI stood like stone—watchful, silent, patient.
“All rise!”
Judge Harlan entered, robe rustling as he took his seat. He nodded toward the DA. “Good morning, counselor. You’re looking well today.” Then his gaze slid to the defense. “Well, all of a sudden I’m feeling underdressed for this occasion.”
A ripple of laughter broke the tension. Jason leaned back, cufflink glinting, smirk intact.
The DA rose. “Your Honor, the State charges Jason West with conspiracy to commit murder and kidnapping. His co-conspirator, Evan Cole, has confessed and directly implicated Mr. West. We will present testimony and corroborating evidence?—”
The Denver attorney shot to his feet, chair scraping. “Your Honor, this is absurd. The State’s entire case hinges on the word of a convicted felon offered a deal. That’s not justice—it’s desperation. My client is a respected businessman. He rented a cabin, opened a bottle of wine, and tried to reconcile with his wife—nothing more. We move to strike these charges for lack of probable cause.”
Jason adjusted a cufflink, smiling faintly as though the matter were already settled.
Judge Harlan’s tone sharpened. “Counselor, do you have direct evidence beyond Mr. Cole’s statements?”
The DA hesitated. “We also have a history of domestic disturbances?—”
The defense cut in before she could finish. “History isn’t evidence.”
“Objection,” the DA snapped.
“Sustained,” Judge Harlan said firmly. The gavel cracked once. “Stick to the matter at hand.”
The DA pressed her lips together and sat.
The Denver attorney smoothed his tie. “As I said, Your Honor, the State has nothing.”
“Motion denied,” Judge Harlan said, expression stony. “This case will move forward.”
As the Denver attorney sat, Jason adjusted his sleeve, daring anyone to meet his eyes.
The judge shifted his gaze. “As for bail: Mr. West, it’s set at two hundred fifty thousand dollars. You will surrender your passport. You are to have no contact with Mrs. West or any witness in this case. You are not to leave the State of North Carolina, and you will check in with the Sheriff’s Office every other week without fail.”
The Denver attorney rose again, polite but insistent. “Your Honor, my client oversees a large custom home-building company in Denver. Hundreds of contractors depend on him daily. These restrictions are unreasonable—he cannot manage his business confined to this state.”
Judge Harlan cocked a brow, a dry smile tugging. “Counselor, I know you boys out in Denver may not believe this, but here in Sylva we do have phones, internet—even cell service.I’m certain your client can manage just fine without crossing our state line.”
Laughter rippled through the benches. The judge let it linger, then banged the gavel—the sound cracking through the chamber. “That will be the order.”
“All rise!” the bailiff barked as Judge Harlan stepped down from the bench.
The courtroom stirred, benches creaking as the crowd stood. Jason rose slowly, deliberate in every motion, his smile sharp as broken glass. He flicked an invisible speck from his lapel, unbothered.
Burke went still. The scrape of chairs, the rustle of robes, even the echo of the gavel faded until there was only that smirk.
The worst kind of monster doesn’t hide in the woods. He sits in boardrooms. Wears a suit. Smiles while he robs you blind.
Jason was that monster.Monsters don’t vanish when sirens stop—they evolve.
At Burke’s side, Scout shifted like he was seconds from crossing the aisle. Burke’s hand moved subtly, steadying him, though anger rose sharp and clean.
He thought of Caitlin—her bruises, her trembling voice, Rosie curled against her like a shield, protecting what little safety she had left. The memory of her hand gripping his in that hospital room—small, cold, but unbroken—flashed through him like lightning in the dark. He could still feel the faint tremor of her pulse against his palm.
