Morrison's face darkened with each revelation, his veneer of respectability cracking. Then it was time for testimony. Margaret went first, voice steady as she recounted their mother's death. The defense attorney, a sharp-faced man named Peyton, attacked immediately. "Isn't it true you and your sisters were desperate for money?
We had our ranch. We needed nothing from Morrison. A failing ranch, heavily mortgaged. " Morrison offered to help, didn't he? He offered to make us his mistresses, Margaret said clearly. When we refused, he killed our mother.
The questioning grew more brutal, but Margaret held firm. Then Rose took the stand, fierce and defiant, matching Peyton word for word. When he suggested she'd invited Morrison's attention, she laughed in his face. "I wouldn't invite that man's attention if he was the last person on earth. " She said he was a monster who thought money gave him the right to take whatever he wanted. But it was Catherine's testimony that broke the case open.
Quiet, gentle Catherine transformed on the stand, her soft voice carrying to every corner of the room as she read from her journal. Her words painted a picture so vivid, so horrible that several women in the gallery wept openly. And then he struck Mama again, she read, her voice breaking. She fell and didn't get up. There was there was so much blood.
He turned to us and said we belong to him now. That's when we ran. Fiction, Peyton declared. Pure fiction written after the fact to support your claims. Then how do you explain this?
The prosecutor asked, producing a new piece of evidence, Morrison's own ledger. Seized from his office, showing payments to men for special services on the dates the journal mentioned violence. The courtroom erupted. Morrison lunged to his feet, cursing, having to be restrained by guards. His carefully maintained facade shattered completely, revealing the brutal man beneath.
They're mine, he roared. I paid for them. Their father owed me everything. The words sealed his fate. The jury didn't even need to deliberate long.
Guilty on all counts. Murder, conspiracy, intimidation. The judge's sentence was swift: hanging, to be carried out within the month. As they left the courthouse, the crowd's mood had shifted entirely. People reached out to touch the sisters to thank them for their courage.
Women who'd suffered in silence for years wept with relief. Men who'd been too frightened to stand against Morrison shook Jake's hand. "It's over," Catherine said wonderingly as they reached their wagon. "It's really over. " No, Jake corrected gently, helping her up. Now it begins.
The real work of healing, of building something new. They returned to the ranch as the sun was setting. The building still bore their battle scars. But somehow the place looked different, hopeful, like it was ready for a new chapter. That night, they gathered on the porch, watching the stars appear.
Rose leaned against Jake's shoulder, her wounded arm in a sling. Margaret sat with Catherine, an arm around her youngest sister. The silence was comfortable, peaceful in a way it had never been before. "What now? " Rose asked eventually. "Now we rebuild," Jake said.