“Your Honor, I believe there may be—”
“A misunderstanding?” Judge Mercer said.
He said nothing.
She lifted one document.
“This account was omitted.
These transfers were omitted.
This entity was omitted.
These signatories were omitted.” Her eyes moved over the room.
“Would counsel like to explain why a shell company created shortly before filing appears tied to concealed funds while this court was asked to consider an aggressive claim against the respondent’s separate property?”
Julian’s attorney stood.
“We request a recess.”
“Denied.”
Elias stood slowly.
“Your Honor, the respondent also asks the court to note the supporting exhibits attached at tabs seven through twelve, including corporate filings, forensic certification, and communications relevant to intent.”
Judge Mercer nodded once and opened the email chain.
When she reached the line about emotionally destabilizing me, her expression changed.
When she reached Julian’s sentence about me handing over more than the law required just to make it stop, she went very still.
Then she looked past him.
At my mother.
At Jasmine.
At Trent.
I had never seen my family look small before.
It was not satisfying in the way revenge stories promise.
It was stranger than that.
Sadder.
Like watching a house from your childhood reveal rot behind the paint.
“Bailiff,” Judge Mercer said, “I want the record to reflect that individuals seated behind petitioner appear to be referenced in respondent’s exhibits.”
Trent muttered, “This is insane.”
