Chapter 8 - THE VERDICT THAT MONEY COULDN’T BUY
The trial lasted eleven weeks.
Beatrice testified on six separate days.
Maggie testified once.
Victoria testified for three.
Luca Moretti refused a cooperation deal and spent much of the proceedings staring at Dante with open hatred.
Charles tried to blame everyone.
Malcolm blamed Charles.
David blamed Victoria.
Victoria blamed fear.
The ledger blamed all of them.
Elliot Crane’s video became the emotional center of the prosecution.
His widow attended.
So did his seventeen-year-old son.
Beatrice could barely look at them the first day.
Then Elliot’s widow approached her outside court.
“Beatrice?”
She stopped.
“I’m Hannah Crane.”
“I know.”
Beatrice swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
Hannah looked confused.
“For what?”
“I worked next to him.”
“So?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Neither did I.”
Her eyes filled.
“Elliot didn’t tell me because he thought keeping us ignorant kept us safe.”
Beatrice understood that logic too well.
Hannah continued.
“He trusted you.”
“I didn’t even know he liked me.”
Hannah laughed.
“He complained about everybody he liked.”
That sounded like Elliot.
“He used to come home and say, ‘Gallagher is the only one in that department who reads footnotes.’”
Beatrice started crying.
Hannah hugged her.
Dante watched from a distance.
He did not intrude.
That mattered.
By the time closing arguments began, the public scandal had spread far beyond Wilkes & Hart.
Clients filed civil claims.
Regulators opened investigations.
The state reviewed two deaths and one disappearance connected to the witness-payment ledger.
Jonathan Reese’s overdose case was reopened.
Peter Dale’s “accident” was reexamined.
Susan Mercer was located alive in Oregon after three years living under another name.
She agreed to testify in additional proceedings.
The system Charles believed he controlled had started pulling itself apart.
On verdict day, Beatrice sat between Maggie and their mother.
Dante sat behind them.
Count after count.
Guilty.
Charles closed his eyes.
Malcolm’s shoulders collapsed.
David began crying.
Luca stared straight ahead.
Guilty.
Guilty.
Guilty.
Conspiracy.
Fraud.
Witness intimidation.
Obstruction.
Financial crimes.
Additional charges connected to Elliot Crane’s death remained pending in another proceeding.
When the judge ordered Charles remanded immediately, he finally looked toward Beatrice.
She expected hatred.
What she saw was something smaller.
Disbelief.
As though he still could not understand how the woman he sent to the back elevator had become the person who ended his career.
Beatrice met his eyes.
She did not smile.
She did not need to.
Outside, hundreds of reporters waited.
Dante asked quietly,
“Want another exit?”
Beatrice looked at him.
“A back elevator?”
His mouth curved.
“Poor choice of words.”
She smiled.
Then looked toward the courthouse doors.
“No.”
For decades she had treated side entrances like safety.
Not today.
She walked through the front.
Cameras exploded.
Questions came from every direction.
“Miss Gallagher, how do you feel?”
“Do you believe justice was served?”
“What happens to Wilkes & Hart?”
“Are you dating Dante Moretti?”
Beatrice stopped.
Maggie made a choking sound behind her.
Dante went very still.
Beatrice looked at the reporter.
“No comment.”
Dante leaned closer.
“That sounded suspicious.”
“Be quiet.”
They reached the car.
Inside, Maggie immediately said,
“You are obviously dating.”
“We have had dinner four times.”
“Six.”
“How do you know?”
“Mom.”
Beatrice looked betrayed.
Their mother stared out the window.
“I count.”
Dante looked amused.
Beatrice pointed at him.
“Do not encourage them.”
“I value family participation.”
“You have your own family.”
“Unfortunately.”
Everyone laughed.
It felt strange.
Good strange.
Three weeks later, sentencing began.
Charles received decades in federal prison.
Malcolm and David received lengthy sentences.
Luca faced additional proceedings connected to Elliot’s death and separate fraud charges.
Victoria received a reduced but substantial sentence because of her cooperation and direct participation in intimidation.
Before she was taken away, she asked to speak to Beatrice.
They stood separated by a courtroom barrier.
Victoria looked older.
Without the silver gown, expensive styling, and carefully practiced contempt, she seemed almost ordinary.
“I’m sorry.”
Beatrice looked at her.
“For which part?”
“All of it.”
“You enjoyed humiliating me.”
Victoria looked down.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
A long pause.
“Because Charles respected your work.”
Beatrice almost laughed.
“He treated me like garbage.”
“He still knew you were better than most of us.”
Victoria’s voice cracked.
“And I hated that you didn’t seem to need people to admire you.”
Beatrice thought of every bathroom where she had cried quietly.
Every photograph she had avoided.
Every joke she laughed at first.
“You misunderstood me.”
“I know.”
Beatrice considered telling Victoria forgiveness would come.
She did not know if that was true.
So she said,
“I hope prison gives you enough silence to figure out who you are without Charles telling you.”
Victoria cried.
Beatrice walked away.
Six months after the gala, Gallagher Forensic Advisory occupied a modest office in lower Manhattan.
Not glamorous.
Four employees.
One conference room.
A coffee machine Maggie declared “criminal.”
Moretti Holdings remained her largest client.
Not her only one.
Beatrice made certain of that.
Dante signed the same engagement terms everyone else did.
He complained about her invoices.
She raised them.
Their relationship grew in the same strange way everything between them had begun.
Through arguments.
Respect.
Coffee.
Dinners neither admitted were dates until the fifth one.
Then one night Dante walked her home.
No guards nearby.
No gala.
No threat.
He stopped beneath her building awning.
“You know I meant something that night.”
Beatrice looked at him.
“What?”
“When I called you my queen.”
She smiled.
“You told me to play along.”
“I did.”
“So you lied.”
“Partially.”
“Very reassuring.”
Dante stepped closer.
“I needed them to believe you were protected.”
“And?”
“And somewhere between taking your hand and watching you tell Charles that anger doesn’t change arithmetic…”
His gaze softened.
“…I stopped pretending.”
Beatrice’s heart pounded.
“I don’t want to be anyone’s queen.”
“I know.”
“Queens are decorative.”
“Not the ones I’ve met.”
“I don’t want protection if it means control.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“I know.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You’re making this difficult.”
“I thought I was doing well.”
Beatrice laughed.
Then kissed him.
May you like
Because sometimes the bravest thing was not standing in a courtroom.
Sometimes it was allowing yourself to want something after spending years convinced wanting more made you foolish.
