We sat together in my cramped workshop again. No screens. No evidence. No fear. Just silence, and something much stronger than anything I had fought against—peace.
Because the real victory wasn’t his ruin.
It was her.
It was her choosing, freely and without fear, who her father truly was. Not the man with fame. Not the man with power or influence or empty promises. But the man who stayed. The man who listened. The man who fought when it mattered most.
The man who would walk her down any aisle she asked—no matter where life took her, no matter what storms came next.
