As the next day approached, Jules Fontaine didn't know what to expect. Yesterday Frank and Frank surprised him. As court began, Jules was silently praying for a miracle. Vince too!

Frank stood, buttoning his suit jacket. "Your Honor, the prosecution is ready to proceed."

Jules forced himself to his feet, his voice controlled. "So is the defense."

Judge Whitmore nodded. "Then let's begin."

The jury, a carefully selected panel of men and women, sat attentively, waiting for the fireworks to start.

Frank took his position, turning toward them with smooth confidence.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he began, his voice steady, "this case is about accountability. About a man who believes the rules don't apply to him. A man who has used threats, intimidation, and violence to get what he wants. But today, that ends."

Jules folded his arms, keeping his expression unreadable, though he was already anticipating the damage control he'd have to do.

Frank continued. "Over the next few hours, you will hear evidence that proves beyond any doubt that Vince Taylor trespassed onto private property with the intent to threaten, intimidate, and cause harm. You will hear testimony from individuals who were personally affected by his actions. And by the time this trial is over, you will see him for exactly what he is—a dangerous man who must be held accountable."

He turned slightly, making brief eye contact with Tank, Fred, and Calvin Sr. before settling his gaze back on the jury.

"The state will present concrete evidence—phone records, video footage, financial transactions—that all lead to one undeniable truth: Vince Taylor is guilty."

Jules didn't react, but his mind was already working.

Frank returned to his seat, confident.

Now, it was Jules' turn.

The seasoned defense attorney walked to the center of the room, pausing just long enough to let the silence settle. Then, he smiled—that cocky, knowing smirk he was famous for.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice smooth like silk, "my colleague makes a compelling argument. But I'm here to remind you of something very important—things aren't always as they seem."

A few jurors shifted in their seats.

"Mr. Taylor is being portrayed as a villain. A threat. A man with no morals. But let me ask you this—where is the real proof that my client intended to cause harm? Where is the intent? Because what you will find, once you strip away all the theatrics, is a man who simply wanted answers. A man who—whether you like it or not—has rights just like anyone else."

He let the words hang in the air.

"Over the next few hours, we will dissect this so-called evidence. We will show you that the prosecution is relying on assumptions, on circumstantial details, and on emotion rather than facts. Because the truth is, Vince Taylor is not the monster they are painting him to be."

With a final, deliberate pause, Jules returned to his seat.

Judge Whitmore glanced at both sides. "Very well. The state may call its first witness."

Frank nodded.

"The prosecution calls Kayla Knight to the stand."

The courtroom door opened, and all eyes turned as Kayla walked in. She held her head high, but there was an undeniable tension in her posture. The memory of that day was still raw—Vince appearing out of nowhere, the way her heart had nearly stopped in fear, how he had tried to take her like she was a possession instead of a person.

Tank sat up straighter, his jaw tightening. Seeing her in this setting, knowing she had to relive everything in front of strangers, made his blood simmer. Fred and Frank remained calm, knowing they had prepared her for this moment.

Kayla approached the witness stand, her hands resting protectively over her belly as she was sworn in. Once she was seated, Frank stood and stepped forward.

"Ms. Knight, can you please state your relationship to the defendant?"

Kayla swallowed, her voice steady but firm. "Vince Taylor is my stepfather."

"And how long has he been in your life?"

"Since I was little. My mom married him when I was two."

Frank nodded. "Now, I'd like to direct your attention to the events that took place two months ago. Can you tell the jury what happened that day?"

Kayla exhaled, her hands clenching slightly in her lap before she spoke.

"I was outside in the garden at the compound. I usually spend time out there—it helps me relax, especially now that I'm pregnant." She paused, her eyes flicking toward Vince, who sat at the defense table, his expression unreadable.

Jules shifted in his seat, waiting for something he could use.

"Go on," Frank encouraged.

Kayla nodded. "A delivery driver came to drop something off for one of us on the compound and Vince... he snuck onto the property. I didn't even realize he was there at first."

The jury listened intently.

"When did you first see him?"

She wet her lips. "When he began to charge at me and yelling at me."

A murmur rippled through the courtroom.

Tank's fingers dug into his thighs. He remembered hearing her scream—how fast he had moved before his brain could even process it.

Frank kept his expression neutral. "And what did he say to you?"

"He told me I was going back to Richmond with him and my mother. He said I needed to stop embarrassing him."

"Embarrassing him how?"

Kayla's hands trembled slightly, but she kept her voice strong. "By being pregnant with Tank's baby."

Jules stood. "Objection. Speculation about the defendant's feelings—"

"Overruled," Judge Whitmore said immediately.

Kayla inhaled deeply and continued. "He tried to pull me, but I yanked away. That's when I screamed for Tank."

Frank nodded, letting the jury absorb every word. "What happened next?"

"Tank and his family came outside. Vince started yelling, saying I was his and a whore. That I didn't belong with them. Then... he got angry. Really angry."

Her hands curled into fists. "He threatened me. Said if I didn't come willingly, I'd regret it."

"Did he make any threats toward anyone else?"

Her eyes flicked toward Tank before she nodded. "Toward Tank. He said Tank wouldn't be able to protect me forever. That he'd make sure of it."

The tension in the courtroom was suffocating.

"Did he try to physically harm anyone?"

Kayla's jaw tightened. "He lunged at Tank."

Fred's father had ensured there was footage of that moment. It was undeniable.

"And what did Tank do?"

"He protected me." Kayla's voice wavered slightly, but she refused to break. "He stopped Vince. But I was already panicking—I couldn't breathe. Mama Sherri had to calm me down."

Frank turned to the jury. "A pregnant woman, terrified in her own home. Threatened. Nearly kidnapped. This is the man sitting before you today."

Jules exhaled sharply through his nose. "Cross-examination."

Frank gave Kayla a reassuring nod before stepping back.

Jules approached, his usual confidence forced. "Ms. Knight, you claim Vince Taylor was trying to 'kidnap' you. But isn't it true that he was simply trying to talk to you? That he was concerned for your well-being?"

Kayla didn't hesitate. "Charging at someone isn't talking. Threatening them isn't concern. Trying to force them somewhere against their will isn't care. That's control. And I'm not under his control anymore."

Jules stiffened. The jury believed her. He could see it in their faces.

He cleared his throat, trying another angle. "But—"

"Mr. Fontaine," Judge Whitmore cut in, "I suggest you tread carefully."

Jules clenched his jaw and stepped back. "No further questions."

Kayla had won this round.

And the prosecution was just getting started.

Kayla stepped down from the witness stand, her composure unwavering despite the emotional weight of her testimony. Tank's eyes followed her as she returned to her seat, his fists clenched. She had held her own, but that didn't change the fact that Vince had tried her, had threatened her, and in Tank's eyes, that was unforgivable.

Fred stood. "The prosecution calls Sheriff Wallace to the stand."

A hushed murmur rippled through the courtroom as Sheriff Wallace—a seasoned lawman with over two decades of experience—approached. He had been one of the first on the scene after Vince's arrest, and his testimony would be crucial.

After being sworn in, Fred approached him. "Sheriff Wallace, can you describe the events of that day from a law enforcement standpoint?"

The sheriff adjusted his posture, his deep voice cutting through the silence. "On the day in question, I received a call regarding a trespasser on the Carter family property. When my deputies and I arrived, we witnessed a hostile situation—Mr. Taylor was being restrained by Mr. Tyler Carter, and Ms. Knight was in visible distress. She was hyperventilating, crying. Mrs. Sherri Carter was attending to her."

Fred nodded. "Did you witness any signs of aggression from Mr. Taylor?"

"Yes. Even on the ground, he continued to shout threats—toward Mr. Carter and Ms. Knight."

"Can you repeat any of those threats?"

"He said, and I quote, 'You think you can keep her from me? I'll make sure you regret this. You won't be able to protect her forever.'"

A collective chill settled over the courtroom.

Fred let the words sink in before continuing. "Was Mr. Taylor armed?"

Sheriff Wallace's expression darkened. "Yes. A knife was recovered from his person during the arrest. And before that, during the altercation, he reached for it."

Fred's voice remained steady. "So, just to clarify—Mr. Tyler Carter didn't instigate a fight. He was protecting Ms. Knight from a man armed with a knife?"

"Correct."

Jules stood abruptly. "Objection! Speculation—"

"Overruled," Judge Whitmore said, his patience thinning.

Fred turned back to Sheriff Wallace. "Were any additional charges filed as a result of that weapon?"

"Yes. Possession of a deadly weapon while committing a felony."

The jury took notes. The case against Vince was building.

Fred nodded, satisfied. "No further questions."

Jules rose, adjusting his suit. He was still rattled by Kayla's testimony, but he needed to regain control. He approached the sheriff with feigned confidence.

"Sheriff Wallace, you say Mr. Taylor had a knife on him. Are you aware if he ever brandished it or used it?"

The sheriff didn't flinch. "Intent matters, Mr. Fontaine. He reached for it. Given the context—trespassing, attempted abduction, threats—it's a clear escalation."

Jules forced a chuckle. "But reaching for a knife and using it are two different things, aren't they?"

The sheriff's face remained stone-cold. "Tell that to a pregnant woman who had just been threatened by her stepfather."

A ripple of agreement passed through the jury.

Jules exhaled sharply. "No further questions."

The prosecution had the upper hand. But Fred wasn't done yet.

He stood. "The prosecution calls Martha Taylor to the stand."

The room went silent.

Martha hesitated as she stood, her movements slow. She wasn't the same woman who once defended Vince blindly. This time, she was nervous, uncertain. She approached the stand, avoiding her husband's glare.

After being sworn in, Fred wasted no time.

"Mrs. Taylor, are you aware of why your husband is on trial today?"

Martha swallowed. "Yes."

"Two months ago, when Vince trespassed onto Carter property, were you present?"

She hesitated. "I was."

Fred nodded. "Did you know Vince planned to confront Kayla?"

Martha's lips parted, but she hesitated before answering. "I... didn't know. But I had a feeling."

Fred's expression remained impassive. "A feeling?"

She exhaled. "Vince was angry. He didn't like that she had moved on from us."

The courtroom was silent, hanging on her every word.

"Did Vince ever express specific intentions about getting Kayla back?"

Martha hesitated again. This was her breaking point.

She closed her eyes briefly before speaking. "Yes."

Vince slammed his fists on the table. "You lying—"

"Mr. Taylor!" Judge Whitmore barked. "One more outburst and you will be removed from this courtroom."

Vince breathed heavily, but sat back, his glare piercing through Martha.

Fred pressed on. "Mrs. Taylor, what exactly did Vince say?"

Martha looked at Kayla. "He said he'd take her back no matter what. That she is his and that if she didn't have a choice."

A sharp intake of breath filled the courtroom.

Fred nodded. "So, you're telling us—under oath—that your husband intended to take Kayla against her will?"

Martha's voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."

Jules' confidence vanished.

Fred stepped back. "No further questions, Your Honor."

Martha sat there, staring down at her hands, while Vince looked at her like she was a traitor.

Jules stood, but this time, there was nothing he could say to undo the damage.

The tension in the courtroom was thick enough to choke on. Martha remained seated at the witness stand, her hands clenched in her lap, while Vince sat at the defense table, his face dark with fury. He knew the tide had turned, but he refused to show weakness.

Jules Fontaine stood, trying to salvage what was left of his case. He approached Martha with slow, calculated steps, but for the first time in his career, he didn't have an angle. He cleared his throat.

"Mrs. Taylor," he began smoothly, "you claim that my client intended to take Kayla against her will. Yet, isn't it true that you never tried to stop him? That you allowed him to believe he had the right to—"

"I did try," Martha cut him off, her voice firmer than before. "I told him to leave her alone." She glanced toward Kayla, her eyes filled with regret. "But he wouldn't listen."

Jules clenched his jaw. He had nothing. Every word she spoke tightened the noose around Vince's neck.

"No further questions," he said, his voice clipped.

Martha stepped down quickly, practically rushing back to her seat as if putting distance between herself and Vince would make things easier.

Fred adjusted his tie before addressing the court. "Your Honor, the prosecution rests."

Judge Whitmore turned to Jules. "Does the defense have any further witnesses?"

Jules inhaled deeply, but the truth was written all over his face. He had played every card he had, and they had all crumbled in his hands.

"No, Your Honor. The defense rests."

Judge Whitmore nodded and turned to the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen, we will now move to closing arguments before deliberation."

Jules straightened his jacket, trying to appear unaffected, though sweat beaded at his temple. He stepped to the jury box and exhaled.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what we have here is a case built on emotions. A case that hinges on assumptions of intent rather than solid proof. Yes, my client was on the Carter property. Yes, there was an argument. But did he actually kidnap Kayla Knight? No. Did he brandish a weapon? No. Was he simply a concerned stepfather, caught in the emotions of seeing his stepdaughter slip away from his family? Yes." He turned and gestured toward Vince. "I ask you to consider the facts, not the feelings behind them."

His words were practiced, polished. But they weren't enough.

Fred stepped forward. He didn't need theatrics. The evidence was enough.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I won't waste your time. The facts are clear. Vince Taylor trespassed on private property with intent. He threatened a pregnant woman—his own stepdaughter. He was armed. And worst of all, he attacked at Tank Carter, the very man protecting the mother of his unborn child.

This wasn't a misunderstanding. This wasn't a concerned stepfather. This was a man desperate for control, so desperate that he was willing to take his own stepdaughter away by force. And when that failed? He threatened her safety." Fred's voice dropped, deadly serious. "Intent matters. And the intent here? Was criminal."

He turned to the jury. "Do the right thing."

With that, he stepped back.

Judge Whitmore nodded. "We will now recess while the jury deliberates. Court is adjourned until a verdict is reached."

The gavel slammed. As soon as the judge left, murmurs filled the courtroom. The tension was suffocating. Tank sat with his elbows on his knees, his jaw locked tight, while Fred and Frank exchanged glances. They had done everything they could. Now, it was up to the jury.

Kayla exhaled shakily, her fingers curled into Tank's sleeve. "It's almost over," she whispered.

Tank looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "Not 'til that man is in prison," he muttered.

Vince sat still at the defense table, his lips pursed, his face blank—but his eyes burned with hatred.

Jules whispered something to him, but Vince wasn't listening. His gaze was locked on Tank, then Kayla.

Kayla swallowed hard and turned away.

Tank's grip tightened on her thigh. He felt Vince's stare, and it took everything in him not to rip that man apart right there in the courtroom.

Roy leaned forward from the back row, his voice low but firm. "We got this, lil' bro. Jury's not gon' let him walk."

Tank inhaled sharply through his nose, trying to calm himself.

Minutes turned into hours.

Then—

"The jury has reached a verdict."

Everyone rose as Judge Whitmore reentered the courtroom. The jury filed in, their faces unreadable. The room went silent.

Judge Whitmore turned to the foreman. "Has the jury reached a verdict?"

The foreman, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, stood. He cleared his throat.

"Yes, Your Honor."

Vince shifted in his seat. Jules folded his hands together, his fingers twitching.

The foreman read from the slip of paper in his hands.

"In the case of the State of Georgia vs. Vincent Taylor, on the charge of trespassing, we find the defendant—guilty."

A murmur spread through the courtroom.

Vince inhaled sharply, but his face remained blank.

The foreman continued.

"On the charge of attempted abduction, we find the defendant—guilty."

Jules closed his eyes briefly.

Vince's hands clenched into fists.

"On the charge of child endangerment, we find the defendant—guilty."

"And on the charge of making criminal threats, we find the defendant—guilty."

A weight lifted off Kayla's shoulders.

Judge Whitmore's gavel came down. "The defendant will remain in custody until sentencing. Court is adjourned."

It was over.

The bailiffs approached Vince, preparing to escort him out, but Vince wasn't done. He twisted sharply toward Kayla, his face contorted with rage.

"This ain't over," he hissed, his voice venomous.

Tank lunged, but Roy and Frank caught him just in time.

"Boy, you better shut up before I make sure you never speak again," Roy growled.

Fred grabbed Kayla's hand and pulled her behind him. "Get him out of here before we do your job for you," he told the bailiffs.

Vince sneered, but the second he looked at Tank—at the rage in his eyes—his smirk faltered.

The bailiffs dragged him toward the exit.

The moment the doors slammed behind Vince Taylor, Kayla exhaled.

Tank turned to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "It's done, baby," he murmured.

But even as he held her, a thought ran through his mind.

Vince was out of their lives for now.

But men like him never truly stayed down.

And Tank?

He'd be ready.