Chapter 58 What if we lose
Ariella couldn’t move. Couldn’t process what she’d just heard.
“He’s blaming your father,” she said to Aiden. “He’s saying Richard did all of it.”
“I know.”
“And us. He’s saying we’re manufacturing evidence.”
“I know.”
“We’re not, right? Tell me we’re not just seeing what we want to see because we need someone to blame.”
Aiden took her face in his hands. “Look at me. My father collected evidence for six years. The FBI verified it independently. Twelve witnesses corroborate the timeline. This isn’t manufactured. This is real.”
“But what if.. ”
“No. No what-ifs. Winters is guilty. His lawyers are doing their job, creating reasonable doubt. But we know the truth.”
“Do we?”
“Yes. We do.”
They had lunch in a private conference room, sandwiches no one could eat, coffee that tasted like cardboard, silence heavy with doubt.
“First day is always rough,” Marcus said. “Pierce is good at creating narratives. But wait until the evidence phase. Wait until the forensic accountants testify. The paper trail doesn’t lie.”
“But people do,” Claire said quietly. “And juries believe stories more than facts.”
She wasn’t wrong.
The afternoon session began with the prosecution’s first witness: a forensic accountant who’d traced the money. She was professional, thorough, boring. Explained shell companies and wire transfers in language so technical half the jury looked lost.
Pierce’s cross-examination was surgical.
“Isn’t it true these shell companies were legal entities?”
“Yes.”
“And the transactions followed all banking regulations?”
“Technically, yes, but…”
“Yes or no, please.”
“Yes.”
“And isn’t it true that Richard Frost also had access to these accounts?”
“Along with several other executives, yes.”
“So my client wasn’t the only person who could have made these transactions?”
“No, but…”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
It went like that all afternoon. Prosecution presented evidence. Defense poked holes, suggested alternatives, created doubt.
By five p.m., when court adjourned, Ariella felt hollowed out.
“Is it always like this?” she asked Marcus in the car.
“Trial is war. This was just the first battle.”
“How many more battles are there?”
“The prosecution has twenty-three witnesses scheduled. Plus evidence presentations. We’re looking at three to four weeks minimum.”
Three to four weeks of this. Of watching Winters sit calmly while his lawyers dismantled everything. Of wondering if twelve strangers would believe the truth or the story.
Back at the mansion, Ariella went straight to the roof. She needed air, space, something other than the suffocating feeling of losing despite being right.
Aiden found her there.
“Talk to me,” he said.
“What if we lose?”
“We won’t.”
“You don’t know that. His lawyers are good. Really good. And they’re making it seem like your father was the criminal, like we’re the villains. What if the jury believes them?”
“Then we appeal. We keep fighting.”
“For how long? How many trials, how many years, how much of our lives do we sacrifice for this?”
“As long as it takes.”
“That’s not an answer!”
“It’s the only answer I have!” Aiden pulled her close. “I know you’re scared. I am too. But we’re not giving up. Not after everything we’ve been through.”
Ariella wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that truth mattered more than performance, that justice was real and not just a story lawyers told.
But after today, she wasn’t sure anymore.