I never told my ex-husband or his wealthy family that I was the secret owner of the multi-billion dollar company where they all worked

The trial of Brendan Morrison was dubbed the "trial of the decade" by the media.

For weeks, the courtroom was packed with journalists, photographers, and curious onlookers. The story of a secret billionaire wife reclaiming her empire and crushing her abusive, embezzling ex-husband was too juicy for the world to ignore.

I did not attend most of the trial. I didn't need to. Arthur and our legal team provided a mountain of undeniable evidence. We had bank statements, security footage, witness testimonies from former staff members, and, most damningly, the audio recording of Brendan's confession during his break-in.

I only appeared on the final day, the day of the sentencing.

I wore a simple, elegant dark blue dress. I was nine months pregnant now, very close to my due date, but I wanted to look my tormentors in the eye one last time.

Diane was there, sitting in the gallery. She looked twenty years older. Her expensive designer clothes were gone, replaced by a cheap, ill-fitting polyester suit. Her hair was graying, and her face was lined with bitter defeat. When I walked past her, she couldn't even look me in the eye. She stared at the floor, her shoulders hunched.

Brendan sat at the defense table. He was dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit, his hands chained to his waist. He had lost weight, his face pale and sunken. He looked like a shell of the man who had laughed so cruelly at me just a few months ago.

The judge, an elderly woman with a reputation for being tough but fair, took her seat. She didn't waste any time.

"Mr. Morrison," the judge said, looking down at Brendan over her glasses. "In my thirty years on the bench, I have rarely seen a case of such profound greed, arrogance, and malice. You did not merely embezzle funds from a company; you actively tried to destroy the life of the woman who had saved your family from ruin. And when your schemes failed, you resorted to violence, endangering not only your ex-wife but your own unborn child."

Brendan kept his head down, tears dripping onto the table.

"For the charges of grand larceny, corporate fraud, and embezzlement," the judge continued, "I sentence you to twelve years in federal prison. For the charges of aggravated burglary, domestic harassment, and attempted assault with a deadly weapon, I sentence you to an additional eight years, to be served consecutively. You will serve a total of twenty years, with no possibility of parole for the first fifteen."

A collective gasp echoed through the courtroom. Diane let out a low, mourning wail, burying her face in her hands.

Brendan didn't move. He looked completely numb.

"Furthermore," the judge added, "a permanent, lifetime restraining order is hereby issued against you and your mother, Diane Morrison, protecting Cassidy Vance and her future children. You are stripped of all parental rights, effective immediately."

The gavel fell. Bang.

It was over.

As the bailiffs stood Brendan up to lead him away, he looked back at me. His eyes were wide, pleading, begging for a shred of mercy.