Chapter 6 - The Verdict and the Fall
The conclusion of the civil trial was swift and merciless.
When court resumed, Curtis’s lawyer, Higgins, immediately filed a motion to withdraw as counsel, citing "irreconcilable ethical conflicts"—the polite legal term for realizing your client had handed you forged documents and lied to your face.
Judge Harper didn't even need to deliberate.
She slammed her gavel with a force that echoed like thunder.
“I find the second will to be a fraudulent document,” she declared, her voice echoing with righteous fury. “The original will stands. Elena Wright is the sole executor and controlling shareholder of Titan Tactical Systems.”
Before Curtis could even slump into his chair in defeat, the heavy courtroom doors opened again. This time, it wasn't the military. It was two agents wearing navy windbreakers with "FBI" printed in stark yellow letters across the back.
They bypassed the gallery and walked directly to the plaintiff's table.
“Curtis Wright,” the lead agent said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “You are under arrest for wire fraud, forgery, and conspiracy to commit corporate espionage. Stand up and place your hands behind your back.”
Curtis began to weep openly. “Mom! Do something! Mom!”
Elaine couldn't do anything. She was already in handcuffs. A second pair of agents had quietly detained her in the hallway outside the courtroom. As they led Curtis out, he looked exactly like what he was: a spoiled, greedy child who had finally touched a stove he was warned was hot.
I stood in the center of the courtroom as the chaos subsided. Marcus patted my shoulder, a rare, genuine smile on his face. “We won, Elena. It’s over.”
I looked up at the judge’s bench, then back at the gallery. The spectators were in shock. The reporters were frantically typing on their phones, sending the story of the decade to their editors.
The fake soldier was real. The loving mother was a perjurer. The grieving son was a thief.
I walked out of the courthouse and into the blazing afternoon sun. A crowd of journalists waited on the steps, shouting questions, shoving microphones in my direction.
“Captain Wright! Captain Wright! What is your first order of business now that you have control of Titan Tactical?”
I stopped at the top of the marble steps. I looked into the cameras, my posture straight, my voice clear and unwavering.
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“My father built Titan Tactical Systems to protect the men and women on the front lines,” I said. “For the last three years, that mission was corrupted by greed. Tomorrow morning, that changes. Titan belongs to the soldiers again.”
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