Chapter 3 - The Golden Handbag Cracks
Judge Harrow rested both elbows on the elevated bench, leaning forward until her gaze seemed to bore straight through the wooden rail separating the well from the gallery.
"Miss Vale," the judge said, her voice dropping into a register that made the entire courtroom hold its breath. "Stand up."
Lauren hesitated. Her manicured fingers dug into the supple calfskin of the Bottega Veneta bag. She looked to Daniel for help, but Daniel was staring at his desk blotter like a schoolboy awaiting corporal punishment.
"I said stand up, young lady," Judge Harrow commanded.
Lauren rose slowly, smoothing the wrinkles from her gray sheath dress. She tried to maintain her poised, chin-high posture, the look of an untouchable socialite navigating an inconvenient public transaction. But her lower lip betrayed a faint, nervous tremor.
"Yes, Your Honor?" Lauren answered, her voice pitched slightly too high.
"Mr. Mercer’s counsel has represented to this court that you intend to serve as the primary daily caregiver for these ten-week-old infants during Mr. Mercer’s designated parenting weeks. Is that your sworn understanding?"
Warren Pike rose immediately. "Your Honor, Miss Vale is not under oath, nor has she been subpoenaed as a witness today—"
"Mr. Pike, if your client is offering this woman’s home and personal labor as the factual foundation for an emergency custody order, this court has the statutory duty to examine her suitability," Judge Harrow cut in ruthlessly. "Clerk, swear her in."
The courtroom deputy stepped forward with a worn black Bible. Lauren looked at it as if it were coated in poison. She raised her right hand, her diamond bracelets clinking against one another.
"Do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
"I do," Lauren muttered.
Judge Harrow didn't waste a second. "Miss Vale, have you ever cared for an infant?"
Lauren’s eyes flickered toward the ceiling. "I have younger cousins, Your Honor."
"Have you ever cared for a premature infant requiring specialized medication, supplemental oxygen monitoring, and twenty-four-hour feeding schedules?"
Lauren swallowed hard. "We intend to hire qualified night nurses. Daniel and I have already interviewed two premier placement agencies."
"With what money, Miss Vale?" Judge Harrow asked smoothly. "Because five minutes ago, Mr. Mercer’s counsel asserted that his financial accounts were so constrained he could not afford to contribute more than thirty-nine dollars a week toward his wife’s living expenses. Where are the thousands of dollars for private nursing agencies originating?"
Lauren glanced down at Daniel. A spark of pure panic flashed across her face. "Daniel has private investments. He has liquidity."
"Ah," Judge Harrow said, nodding slowly. "So he does have liquidity. He simply chose not to use it to keep his children’s medical bills out of debt collections."
Daniel buried his face in his hands. Pike looked like he wanted to crawl underneath the defense table and disappear into the heating vents.
Beside Claire, Miriam Cole leaned over and made a single, sharp notation in her legal pad. Claire looked down into the stroller. Sophie was awake now, her large blue-gray eyes blinking up at the ceiling lights, her tiny rosebud mouth making silent sucking motions. Claire reached down, gently adjusting the cotton blanket over Sophie’s chest, checking the small monitor clipped to her diaper. The baby was peaceful, utterly oblivious to the storm raging above her head.
"Miss Vale," Judge Harrow continued, her gaze sharpening. "Let us address the residential accommodations. Mr. Mercer claims you share a luxury three-bedroom townhouse in the Oakridge subdivision. Is that correct?"
"Yes, Your Honor," Lauren said, regaining a fraction of her haughty composure. "It is a gated community. Pristine. Excellent security. We have already decorated a designer nursery with organic furnishings."
"Whose name is on that lease?"
Lauren hesitated. "It’s in my name."
"And who pays the five-thousand-dollar monthly rent?"
"My company, Valemark Consulting."
"The very company that received a forty-five-thousand-dollar lump-sum wire transfer from Claire and Daniel Mercer’s joint marital savings account while Mrs. Mercer was undergoing emergency surgery?" Judge Harrow asked, her voice dropping into icy clarity.
Lauren’s face flushed a deep, violent crimson. "That was a business transaction! It had nothing to do with this custody dispute! Daniel hired my agency for brand management and commercial development!"
"Brand management," Judge Harrow echoed flatly. "Mr. Mercer is an independent business turnaround consultant. What brand was he developing, Miss Vale? His own marital misconduct?"
A snicker erupted from someone in the back row of the gallery.
May you like
Lauren’s composure snapped like dry twigs. The polished, elegant veneer she had wore into Courtroom 6C cracked wide open, exposing the raw, bitter entitlement underneath. She gripped the back of the hardwood bench in front of her, her knuckles bulging.
"Your Honor, this is ridiculous!" Lauren snapped, her voice carrying through the chamber. "Claire is doing this on purpose! She brought those screaming babies in here in a stroller just to make a scene! She knows Daniel doesn't want those kids living with us full-time! He doesn't even know how to hold them!"
