I took a moment to catch my breath. Johnson stood up, straightening his clean suit. He walked over to me slowly, like a hunter closing in on its prey.
"Ms. Smithson," he began smoothly, "You've told quite a story about your dad's struggles. But let's stick to the facts."
His tone felt fake and polite. I braced myself for what was coming next.
"You say your father was pushed into taking out those loans. But isn't it true that he signed every paper on his own?"
I clenched my hands, trying to stay calm. "He was given false promises. The terms changed after he signed."
Johnson raised an eyebrow. "Pushed? Or just a businessman who didn't read the fine print?"
I held his gaze. "He read everything. He trusted the bank."
He smirked. "Trust can be dangerous in business. Wouldn't you say?"
I took a deep breath to calm down.
He turned to the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a daughter in pain. But her claims are built on feelings, not facts."
Then he looked at me again. "Ms. Smithson, how old were you when your dad took out these loans?"
I paused. "Fifteen."
Johnson nodded, as if he expected this answer. "So, you're telling us, under oath, that at fifteen, you were deeply involved in your father's finances?"
I gritted my teeth. "I saw the damage it did."
"But not enough to grasp the whole financial picture."
I hesitated for just a moment. Johnson jumped on it.
He faced the jury again. "This is my point. Ms. Smithson is emotional about this case, but emotions aren't proof."
Gabriel stood up. "Objection, argumentative."
"Sustained," said the judge.
Johnson didn't flinch. He turned back to me. "So, Ms. Smithson, you're suing for five hundred million dollars. That's a lot of money. Would you say your own money troubles are affecting your motives?"
I could feel my blood boiling. "I'm not after money. I want justice."
He smirked again. "Justice? Or revenge?"
I shot him a glare.
Johnson let out a big sigh and turned to the judge. "No further questions."
I let out a breath as he went back to his seat.
I held my ground, but his words made me worry.
Gabriel stepped up, his eyes sharp as he faced Richardson.
"Mr. Richardson, let's discuss your role with John Smithson."
Richardson leaned back, staying calm. "I was just a banker. Mr. Smithson was a borrower, like many others."
Gabriel grinned. "A borrower who was also your business rival."
Richardson didn't budge. "That's irrelevant."
Gabriel moved in closer. "Actually, it's very relevant. Your bank went after John Smithson not as a client, but as a competitor."
"Speculation."
Gabriel pulled out a paper. "Let's stick to facts. This is an email from your bank, before my client's foreclosure, where a senior officer calls John Smithson a 'problem that needs handling.'"
People in the courtroom murmured.
Richardson finally showed a hint of annoyance.
Gabriel kept going, his voice steady. "Mr. Richardson, what did your officer mean by 'handling'?"
Richardson's jaw tightened. "That's not my wording."
"But it was your bank, under your leadership."
Silence.
Gabriel didn't let up. "You rigged loans to destroy a man who got in your way. This was never about business. It was personal."
Richardson stayed stiff, his eyes cold.
Gabriel stepped back, calm but pointed. "You didn't just ruin a business, Mr. Richardson. You ruined a man. And you did it on purpose."
The room was quiet.
Just when it seemed the tension couldn't get any thicker, the back doors creaked open.
A man walked in. An older guy. He looked nervous and unsure.
Gabriel turned and his eyes widened a little. He quickly regained his poise.
"Your Honor," he said, "I want to call a new witness."
The judge frowned. "This is very unusual."
Gabriel was firm. "This man has key evidence that could change everything."
The judge assessed him and then nodded. "Proceed."
The man took the stand and swore an oath.
Gabriel approached him. "Please state your name."
The man swallowed hard. "Gregory Adams."
I frowned. The name felt familiar.
Gabriel turned to the courtroom. "Mr. Adams was a former analyst at Richardson Bank."
Gasps echoed from the audience. Even Richardson tensed up.
Gabriel lifted another paper. "Mr. Adams, can you confirm for the court there was a plan to push John Smithson into default?"
Adams hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Yes."
A gasp swept over the room.
Gabriel pressed on. "Who made that plan?"
Adams licked his lips. "The executive team. But…" He glanced at Richardson. "It was really pushed by Mr. Richardson himself."
Everything went quiet.
Richardson shot up. "This is all nonsense!"
Gabriel turned, almost grinning. "Your Honor, we now have witness testimony showing this was a planned attack. This wasn't about a business going under; it was a setup."
The judge's expression stayed unreadable, but I could see a shift in the jury. They were starting to believe.
Richardson sat back down, his hands gripping the table. For the first time, he looked unnerved.
He was losing. And he knew it.
After Court, my apartment felt thick, heavy with anticipation.
I sat on my couch, looking at my untouched glass of wine. Today had been brutal. Richardson had cracked. Under Gabriel's relentless questioning, his mask had slipped, his greed, his deception, his utter disregard for my father's life had been laid bare for the court to see.
And the moment that sealed it?
That bank memo.
The look on Richardson's face when Gabriel presented the document was something I would never forget. His confident had disappeared in an instant. His lawyer, Johnson, had scrambled to object, to explain, but the damage was done.
For the first time, Richardson looked afraid.
But even with that small victory, doubt still went through my mind
Gabriel had warned me, "Nothing is guaranteed. The jury can be unpredictable."
That's what terrified me the most. We had presented the truth, but what if it wasn't enough? What if Richardson's lawyers found a way to twist things in the jury's minds?
I exhaled shakily, rubbing my head. I have to trust in the fight we had given.
The trial was almost over. Tomorrow, both sides would make their final move.
I got up and drove down to Gabriel's office and knocked softly on his office door, knowing he'd still be awake. Sure enough, when he opened it, he had the same tired, restless look in his eyes that I felt in my own.
"You can't sleep either," I said.
He shook his head, motioning for me to sit. His desk was covered in legal pads, papers, and highlighters, his own personal war zone.
"I keep running through my closing argument," he admitted. "Wondering if I should push harder on Richardson's greed, or focus on the impact it had on your father."
I stared at the papers, overwhelmed by how much he had put into this.
"You've done everything you can, Gabriel," I said quietly. "No matter what happens tomorrow… I just wanted to say thank you."
He looked up, surprised. "Emily"
"No, really." I exhaled. "You didn't have to take this case. But you did. You fought for my father when he wasn't here to fight for himself. That means everything."
Gabriel held my gaze for a long moment before leaning back in his chair with a small smile.
"Well," he said, "I don't plan on losing."
Despite everything, I laughed. It was the first real laugh I'd had in weeks.
I stood. "Get some sleep, Gabriel."
He smirked. "You too."
But we both knew neither of us would. I left and drove home.