Jack’s POV
The courtroom was suffocating, like a pressure cooker ready to blow. The air hung thick and heavy, pressing down on my chest with every breath I took, making it hard to feel anything but the weight of this moment. It was packed tighter than a sardine can—reporters jammed into the benches, their notebooks gripped like lifelines, pencils poised to catch every word. Officials in starched suits huddled in corners, their whispers sharp and quick, while a crowd of onlookers—people who’d probably elbowed their way in just to see Margaret’s empire crumble—filled every spare inch. The wooden walls seemed to drink in the tension, their dark panels gleaming faintly under the overhead lights. A low hum of voices buzzed through the room, restless and jittery, like a hive of bees waiting for
