MY HUSBAND'S MISTRESS SECRETLY DROPPED AN ILLEGAL DRUG INTO MY WINE, AND I CAUGHT HER IN THE ACT. SHE EVEN LAUGHED, "RELAX, SIS YOU CAN'T DRINK!" I GRABBED HER HAIR AND FORCED HER TO FINISH IT ALL, LEAVING MY HUSBAND FROZEN IN SHOCK.

Six months later, Courtroom 402 was packed to maximum capacity.

The courtroom was familiar to me; the dark oak paneling, the great seal of the state behind the judge’s bench, the smell of aged paper and leather. I had won dozens of convictions in this room. Today, I sat in the front row of the gallery, wearing a tailored navy suit.

At the defense table, Daniel Holloway stood next to his public defender—his private legal team having abandoned him after his funds were seized by the federal government.

At the witness stand sat Vanessa Thorne.

Her voice was steady, purged of every trace of the arrogance she had once carried. Under direct examination by the chief prosecutor, she recounted every text message, every meeting, and the exact words Daniel had spoken in the car outside my house on the night of the dinner.

"He told me to pour the entire packet," Vanessa testified, her voice echoing through the quiet chamber. "He said that Claire was too smart to be fooled by an excuse, so we had to make sure she couldn't wake up to testify."

Daniel kept his head bowed, his hands shaking beneath the table.

When the prosecutor concluded, the jury deliberated for less than three hours.

The foreperson stood. "On the charge of Conspiracy to Commit First-Degree Premeditated Murder, we find the defendant, Daniel Holloway, guilty."

"On the charge of Grand Larceny and Corporate Embezzlement, we find the defendant guilty."

"On the charge of Possession of a Controlled Substance with Intent to Administer, we find the defendant guilty."

Judge Katherine Alvarez looked down from the bench, her expression unyielding.

"Daniel Holloway," the judge announced, "your actions demonstrate a level of calculated malice and deceit that this court rarely encounters. You attempted to assassinate the woman who supported you, all to conceal your own financial cowardice."

She paused, adjusting her glasses.

"I sentence you to twenty-eight years to life at Pelican Bay State Prison, without the possibility of parole until you have served a minimum of twenty-five calendar years."

The gavel came down with a heavy, final *crack*.

Daniel broke down, sobbing uncontrollably as two bailiffs gripped his arms and hoisted him from his seat. As they dragged him toward the holding cell door, he looked back into the gallery, his red, tear-streaked eyes locking onto mine.

He wanted forgiveness. He wanted remorse.