My husband hit me five times with his belt because his mistress claimed I had scratched her car.

Six months passed.

Spring arrived in North Texas, bringing warm rain, blooming bluebonnets along the highways, and crisp, clear blue skies over downtown Dallas.

The scandal that had dominated the Texas business press for weeks had settled into a classic legal textbook study on corporate governance, forensic accounting, and asset recovery.

RouteNova Logistics was ancient history.

In its place stood Herrera Logistics Group—a clean, highly efficient, ethical supply-chain corporation that operated out of a brand-new, eco-certified headquarters in Plano.

Under my leadership as CEO, the company had abandoned Diego’s reckless, debt-fueled expansion model. We had sold off the idle EV vans, canceled the predatory leases, and focused entirely on core regional freight networks.

Within six months, revenue had stabilized, customer trust had been completely restored, and Boreal Capital had finalized a clean, fifty-million-dollar growth investment—this time with my father and me holding sixty percent of the voting equity.

On a bright Thursday afternoon in April, I sat in my new corner office on the twelfth floor of the Herrera Logistics building.

The office was light-filled, modern, and decorated with warm oak paneling and vibrant watercolor paintings. On the wall behind my desk hung a newly framed blue ceramic vase—a replica of the one Lauren had broken, crafted for me by a master potter in Fort Worth.

Sitting across from my desk was Sarah Lin, who was now our Vice President of Corporate Risk and Internal Audit.

“The final liquidation report for the old RouteNova estate was filed with the bankruptcy court this morning,” Sarah said, setting a bound document on my desk. “The Southlake residence sold at auction for four point eight million dollars. The proceeds have been fully applied toward liquidating the remaining third-party trade debts.”

I looked over the numbers. “And Diego’s personal bankruptcy?”

“Complete discharge denied under Section 727 due to intentional fraud,” Sarah replied smoothly. “Which means Diego remains personally liable for eleven million dollars in outstanding civil judgments for the rest of his natural life.”

A soft knock sounded at my door.

Evelyn Vance walked in, carrying a thin Manila legal folder.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Herrera,” Evelyn smiled, setting the folder on my desk. “I have the final disposition updates from the District Attorney’s office regarding the criminal proceedings.”

I gestured for her to sit down. “What are the plea terms?”

Evelyn pulled out three court documents.

“Mark Vance entered a guilty plea this morning to one count of federal wire fraud and one count of conspiracy,” Evelyn reported. “He has been sentenced to forty-eight months at the Federal Correctional Institution in Seagoville. His CPA license has been permanently revoked.”

“And Renata Cruz?”

“Renata pleaded guilty to felony insurance fraud and subornation of perjury,” Evelyn said. “She received three years of deferred adjudication probation, fifty thousand dollars in court fines, and a permanent prohibition against working in corporate public relations in the state of Texas. She is currently working as a phone clerk at a call center in San Antonio.”

I nodded slowly, taking in the complete, systematic closure of their cases.

“And Diego?” I asked quietly.

Evelyn looked at me, her grey eyes grave and serious.

“Diego rejected the plea offer last week,” Evelyn said. “He went to trial before Judge Higgins on the federal fraud and aggravated domestic assault charges. The jury deliberated for less than ninety minutes yesterday afternoon.”

She pulled a certified court transcript from her folder and laid it before me.

“Guilty on all seven counts,” Evelyn said. “Judge Higgins sentenced him this morning to fourteen years in federal prison, with no possibility of parole for the first ten years.”

Fourteen years.