The air in the courtroom was thick, charged with rage, grief, and fear. Vidyut’s last words echoed like a death sentence. The Chauhans, Reddys, Malhotras, and Singh's sat frozen, their arrogance crumbling in front of a truth too heavy to deny.

The defence lawyer, Mr. Randhawa, staggered to his feet, his earlier confidence shattered. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he fumbled for words.

“M-My Lord… this… this could all be fabricated. Papers, witnesses—Vidyut Singhania is known for manipulation. What proof is there that these so-called evidences are not planted? What proof is there that my clients were—”

Vidyut’s smirk cut him off before the judge even could. He turned, voice razor-sharp.

“Mr. Randhawa, I warned you earlier—Vidyut Singhania never comes with incomplete homework. Every document I presented is verified by forensic experts. Every statement is notarized. Every video is authenticated by digital crime labs. Even the foreign intelligence division has corroborated the trafficking links.”