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"Morgan's meeting us at the courthouse," Julia said, checking her phone. "She's bringing the final evidence logs from the federal investigation."

"How's she handling the promotion?"

"Lieutenant Rivers is thriving in Major Crimes." Julia's smile held genuine warmth for her former partner. "Though she still stress-bakes when big cases hit dead ends. Last week the whole department had cupcakes after that art forgery case broke."

The morning light had strengthened, illuminating the careful balance they'd created. Julia's tactical situational awareness remained, visible in the strategic placement of furniture and subtle security measures. But it no longer dominated her life. Ivy's influence showed in the warmth—books scattered on side tables, plants thriving on windowsills, and artwork chosen for beauty rather than strategic value.

"We should go," Julia said finally, closingher files. "Traffic's already building downtown."

Ivy nodded, but caught Julia's hand before she could move away. "Hey. We did this. Together."

The simple acknowledgment carried weight—five years of building trust, of choosing each other daily, of creating something neither had believed possible when they'd first crossed paths in that hotel bar.

"Together," Julia agreed, threading their fingers together. The word had become their touchstone, their promise.

As they prepared to leave for the courthouse and Knox's final sentencing, Julia felt the rightness of this moment. The woman who had once lived entirely by the book had learned to write new rules. The detective who had maintained perfect distance had discovered that connection strengthened rather than compromised.

And as the morning sun illuminated Phoenix Ridge, Julia Scott—wife, task force commander, and keeper of her family's legacy—stepped into another day of the life she'd chosen, hand in hand with the womanwho had taught her that some rules were meant to be broken.

The Phoenix Ridge courthouse rose before them, its neoclassical pillars reaching toward a cloudless sky. Ivy climbed the marble steps beside Julia, their shoulders brushing with each stride. Five years of testimony, depositions, and legal battles had led to this moment: Vincent Knox's final sentencing hearing, the last appeal exhausted.

Inside, the building hummed with controlled activity. Security had been heightened for the occasion, uniformed officers nodding respectfully as Julia passed, her reputation as the Anti-Corruption Task Force commander preceding her. Ivy caught whispers of "Scott's here" rippling through the corridors—not with the fear that name had once inspired in corrupt officers, but with respect for what Julia had built from the department's ashes.

They entered Courtroom Four, the same room where Knox's original trial had played out. Ivy's gaze swept the space, noting how power had shifted. The gallery was filled with citizens who had suffered under Knox's infrastructure manipulations, reporters withnotebooks poised, and federal agents who had worked alongside her to untangle the syndicate's financial web.

Knox sat at the defense table, a shadow of the man who had once controlled Phoenix Ridge's critical resources. His cream-colored suits had given way to institutional orange, his silver hair now white, his posture diminished. Yet his eyes still held that calculating edge when they met Ivy's across the room.

"Dr. Monroe," District Attorney Elena Ramirez approached, her tailored suit and confident stride marking her as Phoenix Ridge's new breed of public servant. "Your final impact statement is ready?"

Ivy nodded, touching the folder in her briefcase. "Five years of financial reconstruction summarized in three pages."

"Your work made this possible," Ramirez said, glancing toward Knox. "Without your evidence, he'd still be pulling strings from behind his legitimate businesses."

As they took their seats, Ivy felt Julia's hand brush hers, a subtle gesture of support that had become their private language in public spaces. The bailiff called for order,and Judge Althea Rowe took the bench, her presence commanding immediate silence.

"We're here for the final sentencing hearing in the matter of United States versus Vincent Knox," Judge Rowe announced, her voice carrying the weight of justice long delayed. "The defendant's appeals have been exhausted. We'll hear final statements before imposing the sentence."

The proceedings moved efficiently. The prosecution presented a summary of Knox's crimes: racketeering, conspiracy, attempted murder of a federal witness, and corruption of public officials. Each charge carried memories for Ivy: the night Knox's men had invaded Julia's apartment, the cold terror of the shipping container, the systematic way she'd dismantled his empire one financial thread at a time.

When called to deliver her impact statement, Ivy rose with the same determination that had carried her through five years of testimony. She approached the podium, aware of Knox's gaze following her every movement.

"Your Honor," she began, her voice steady, "the defendant's crimes extendedbeyond financial manipulation. He weaponized Phoenix Ridge's infrastructure, positioning himself to control water, power, and emergency services. His syndicate didn't just steal money; it stole the city's sense of security."

She detailed the reconstruction efforts: how recovered funds had strengthened the water treatment facility, how new oversight committees prevented similar infiltration, how the Anti-Corruption Task Force had restored trust in law enforcement. As she spoke, she felt the weight of her journey from solitary forensic accountant to key witness to consultant shaping the city's financial safeguards.

"The Marie Scott Memorial Water Treatment Plant now serves as both practical infrastructure and a symbol," Ivy concluded. "Named for the officer who first recognized the defendant's moral failings, it represents Phoenix Ridge's commitment to integrity over corruption."

Knox shifted in his seat, the mention of Marie Scott still capable of piercing his composure after three decades.

Judge Rowe nodded. "Thank you, Dr.Monroe. Mr. Knox, do you wish to make a final statement?"

Knox rose slowly, age and confinement having stripped away his physical authority but not his arrogance. "I maintain that my actions were misunderstood business practices, not criminal enterprise. History will vindicate?—"

"History," Judge Rowe interrupted, "will remember you as a man who betrayed public trust for personal power." She lifted the sentencing document. "Vincent Knox, this court sentences you to life imprisonment without possibility of parole, sentences to run consecutively with existing federal convictions. You will serve your time at the United States Penitentiary, Florence, Colorado."

The gavel fell with finality.

Ivy exhaled, five years of tension releasing with that single sound. Around her, the gallery erupted in subdued celebration—victims finding closure, journalists capturing the moment, and federal agents exchanging satisfied nods.