Chapter 10 - The Last OwnerAnthony survived surgery.
Satellite trucks.
Cameras.
Reporters.
Protesters.
Supporters.
People holding signs with Lily’s name.
People holding signs accusing her of destroying young men’s lives.
That second group angered me.
Lily barely looked at them.
“You okay?” I asked.
“No.”
“Want to use the side entrance?”
“No.”
She took my hand.
“We walk.”
So we did.
Together.
The Ghost had entered buildings through kitchens, tunnels, loading docks, private elevators.
Daniel Walker walked through the front door beside his daughter.
That felt more powerful.
Brandon Mercer and Connor Vale were tried together.
Their fathers faced separate federal proceedings later.
The prosecution began with photographs.
Hospital images.
X-rays.
Blood-stained clothing.
Then the emergency call.
Then witnesses.
Sophie testified.
Her voice shook at first.
Connor’s attorney tried to suggest she hated him.
“I barely knew him.”
“You disliked him.”
“I dislike him now.”
Several jurors almost smiled.
Madison testified next about the intimidation surrounding her earlier report.
Defense objected repeatedly.
Some testimony was limited.
Enough remained.
Then Tristan entered.
Prison had changed him.
He had lost weight.
The expensive haircut was gone.
He looked twenty years old instead of invincible.
The prosecutor asked:
“Did Lily Walker attack Brandon Mercer?”
“No.”
“Did she threaten him?”
“No.”
“Did she consent to being struck?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
Tristan swallowed.
“Brandon got angry.”
“Why?”
“Because Lily told Sophie he had cheated.”
“And then?”
“He hit her.”
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
Tristan started crying.
“Because after a while I stopped counting.”
Lily’s hand tightened around mine.
The prosecutor continued.
“What did you do?”
“I blocked the door.”
“Why?”
“Connor said nobody should leave.”
“Did you strike Lily?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I kicked her.”
“Where?”
“In the side.”
“While she was standing?”
“No.”
“Where was she?”
“On the floor.”
The courtroom went silent.
Connor stared at him with hatred.
Brandon stared at nothing.
Tristan continued.
“When she stopped moving, I got scared.”
“What did Brandon do?”
“He said she was faking.”
“What did Connor do?”
“Kept recording.”
“What did you do?”
“Called 911 from another phone.”
“Why anonymously?”
“I was scared of our parents.”
That sentence mattered.
Even the perpetrators feared the machinery around their families.
During cross-examination, Brandon’s lawyer destroyed Tristan’s credibility for nearly an hour.
Drug use.
Prior lies.
Plea agreement.
Reduced sentence.
It was effective.
Justice is uncomfortable because guilty people still deserve competent lawyers.
Then came the video.
The courtroom monitors turned on.
I had seen it.
Lily had not watched the full recording.
She chose to now.
I whispered, “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Connor’s laughter filled the courtroom.
Lily watched herself being shoved.
Hit.
Falling.
Kicked.
The jurors looked horrified.
One covered her mouth.
Then the recovered final audio played.
Brandon:
“If she dies, Dad will fix it.”
Connor laughing.
“Mine too.”
The clip ended.
Nobody moved.
Defense strategy changed after lunch.
They could no longer plausibly deny the assault.
Instead, they argued intent.
Nobody meant serious injury.
Young men panicked.
Alcohol.
Immaturity.
A terrible mistake.
The prosecution responded with one sentence:
“Mistakes stop when the victim falls unconscious. Choices continue.”
Then Lily testified.
I wanted to sit beside her.
I couldn’t.
She walked to the witness stand alone.
Her jaw had healed enough for normal speech, though she still had pain.
The prosecutor asked simple questions first.
Name.
Age.
School.
Relationship to defendants.
Then:
“Why were you at the apartment that night?”
“My roommate Sophie was dating Brandon. She asked me to come.”
“What happened?”
Lily told them.
No theatrics.
No exaggeration.
That made it stronger.
She explained finding messages proving Brandon had cheated.
She told Sophie privately.
Brandon discovered it.
He demanded she apologize.
She refused.
She tried to leave.
They blocked her.
Then the violence began.
“When did you realize you were seriously hurt?”
Lily paused.
“When I tasted blood and couldn’t close my mouth correctly.”
I looked down.
The prosecutor asked:
“What were you thinking?”
“That my dad was going to get a call saying I was dead.”
I stopped breathing.
She continued.
“And I knew he would blame himself somehow.”
Several jurors glanced at me.
I stared at my hands.
“Why would he blame himself?”
“Because that’s what dads do.”
Laughter moved softly through the courtroom.
Even the judge smiled.
Then Lily’s voice steadied.
“I remember thinking I had to stay awake because my dad already lost my mom. I didn’t want him to lose me too.”
I cried openly.
No allergies this time.
On cross-examination, Connor’s attorney approached carefully.
“Miss Walker, you dislike my client.”
“Yes.”
“You want him punished.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve participated in media coverage.”
“One statement.”
“You became a public symbol.”
“I became a person people talked about. That wasn’t my choice.”
“Your father has significant resources, correct?”
The prosecutor objected.
Overruled.
Lily looked at me.
Then back.
“He owns a shipping company.”
“Is that all?”
My stomach tightened.
They were going after The Ghost.
“Your father has connections to questionable individuals, doesn’t he?”
Lily answered:
“My father’s past didn’t break my jaw.”
Silence.
The attorney tried again.
“Isn’t it true your father has used pressure against the defendants’ families?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he tell you he would destroy them?”
“No.”
“What did he tell you?”
Lily looked directly at the jury.
“He told me the truth had to be enough.”
Nothing the lawyer asked after that mattered.
Closing arguments ended eight days later.
The jury deliberated fourteen hours.
Fourteen hours feels like fourteen years when your child’s future seems attached to twelve strangers.
Lily refused to leave the courthouse.
We ate terrible vending-machine sandwiches.
Evelyn complained about the coffee.
Bell paced.
Naomi pretended not to.
At 8:47 p.m., the courtroom reconvened.
Brandon stood.
Connor stood.
Lily held my hand.
The clerk read:
“On the charge of aggravated assault in the first degree…”
My heartbeat disappeared.
“Guilty.”
Lily exhaled.
“Conspiracy…”
“Guilty.”
“Unlawful restraint…”
“Guilty.”
“Witness intimidation…”
Connor’s face turned white.
“Guilty.”
Charge after charge.
Guilty.
Not everything.
One lesser count came back not guilty.
Justice wasn’t perfect.
It didn’t need to be.
It needed to be real.
Brandon sat down hard.
Connor stared at his father across the courtroom.
For the first time, William Vale couldn’t save him.
Connor started crying.
Not Lily.
Connor.
Outside, reporters exploded.
Lily stopped on the courthouse steps.
A journalist shouted, “Lily, do you feel like you won?”
She thought about it.
“No.”
The crowd quieted.
“I survived.”
She looked at the camera.
“That’s different.”
Then she walked with me toward the car.
I thought the worst was over.
It wasn’t.
At 11:32 that night, Naomi called.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Anthony Marlow was attacked in federal custody.”
I sat up.
“Alive?”
“Barely.”
“Who?”
“Another detainee.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No.”
“What did Anthony say?”
“He regained consciousness for thirty seconds.”
“And?”
“He asked for you.”
My stomach tightened.
“What else?”
Naomi hesitated.
“He said one sentence.”
“What?”
“‘The network has another owner.’”
I stared into darkness.
Anthony hadn’t been the top.
May you like
And whoever was—
had just tried to silence him.
