She'd never seen him fidget before. In all the years she'd known him, all the council meetings and community events and polite conversations, he had always been perfectly still. Perfectly composed.
Not today.
The door behind the bench opened.
"All rise."
Judge Morrison entered and took his seat. The courtroom went silent.
"I understand the jury has reached a verdict."
The foreperson stood—an older woman, gray hair, the one who had taken careful notes throughout the trial.
"We have, Your Honor."
The bailiff carried a folded piece of paper to the judge. Morrison read it. His face revealed nothing. He handed it back.
"The defendant will rise."
Warren Caldwell stood. His attorneys stood with him. His thumb had stopped moving.
Lila couldn't breathe.
"On the count of conspiracy to commit murder in the first degree," the foreperson read, "we the jury find the defendant guilty."
The word landed like a blow to the chest.
"On the count of conspiracy to commit fraud, we find the defendant guilty."
Whispers from the gallery. The scratch of pens.
"On the count of money laundering, we find the defendant guilty."
"On the count of obstruction of justice, we find the defendant guilty."
"On the count of bribery of a public official, we find the defendant guilty."
Five counts. All five.
Lila's vision blurred. Tears on her cheeks, on the gray dress. She didn't wipe them away.
At the defense table, Warren Caldwell's hands had returned to the wood. Gripping now, not resting. His knuckles were white. His face was the color of ash.
He turned his head—just slightly, just for a moment—and looked at Lila.
She didn't know what she expected to see. Rage, maybe. Hatred. Some acknowledgment of what he'd done, what he'd lost, what this moment meant.
Instead, there was nothing. His eyes moved over her face like she was a piece of furniture. Like she was no one. Like she hadn't just ended his life.
Then the marshals were there, and his attorneys were speaking to him in low voices as he was being led away. He didn't look back.
Judge Morrison was saying something about sentencing, a date six weeks from now. Lila heard the words without processing them. All she could think was: it's over. After five years, it's over.
Ronan's hand found hers. She held on.
The hallway was chaos—journalists, cameras, shouted questions.
Sarah gave a statement somewhere. The crowd surged and shifted. Lila pressed her back against the wall and tried to remember how to breathe.
