Chapter 4: The Day of Reckoning
The courtroom was packed. The media had turned the case into a sensation—the "Angel of Death Father," they called him. Gregory Vance sat at the defendant's table, looking disheveled, his expensive suits traded for a prison jumpsuit. He still had that arrogant tilt to his chin, a man who thought he could talk his way out of a guillotine.
When Maya walked into the courtroom, the gallery went silent. She walked with a cane, her body still weak, but her head held high. When she took the stand, Gregory’s eyes locked onto hers. He tried to intimidate her, a subtle furrow of his brow, a predatory glint in his eye.
Maya didn't flinch.
"You said you loved me," Maya said, her voice clear and ringing through the room. "But love doesn't put a girl in the hospital. Love doesn't rewrite someone's life to fit a bank statement."
She began to recount the story, not as a victim, but as a prosecutor. She detailed the nights of feeling heavy, of the fog in her head, and the way her father would stroke her hair while handing her the glass. She presented the evidence: the receipts from the black-market pharmacies, the digital logs of the bank transfers, and the crushing revelation of the journal.
Gregory’s composure began to shatter. When his lawyer tried to object, Gregory stood up, his face twisted in a mask of fury. "She’s lying! She’s always been the manipulative one!" he screamed.
The judge slammed the gavel. The courtroom erupted. It was the moment everyone had been waiting for—the mask of the grieving father completely ripped away.
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"You're done, Gregory!" Miller shouted from the back of the room.
The jury didn't even take two hours to deliberate.
