Chapter 5 - Judgment Morning
Monday morning arrived with a gray, torrential downpour that flooded the gutters of downtown. Every jolt of the car on the way to the county courthouse sent white-hot sparks of agony through my lower abdomen, but I clamped my jaw shut and held Cara’s hand. Uncle Arthur had taken an emergency red-eye flight from Chicago, meeting us under the marble archway of the courthouse steps at eight-thirty sharp, carrying a thick leather briefcase.
""You look terrible, Reed,"" Arthur said bluntly, shaking my hand before leaning down to kiss Cara’s cheek. ""Which is good. Judges hate people who look too comfortable when their families are falling apart.""
""Did you get the subpoenaed records?"" I asked.
Arthur patted his briefcase with a grim smile. ""First Federal complied at midnight under an emergency judicial order. The paper trail isn't just a leak, Reed; it's a Niagara Falls of grand larceny. Your brother is in catastrophic trouble.""
We entered Courtroom 302. The mahogany benches were mostly empty except for a couple of bored probate clerks shuffling paper. Sitting at the front table on the left was Garrett, dressed in an ill-fitting navy suit, his hair disheveled, dark circles bruising the skin under his bloodshot eyes. Beside him sat a court-appointed public defender who looked like he would rather be anywhere else on earth.
In the second row of the gallery sat my mother. She had dressed in black, as if attending a funeral, holding a lace handkerchief to her eyes. When she saw me wheeled in by Cara, she didn't glare. Instead, she put on an expression of tragic, wounded motherhood, shaking her head slowly as if I were the executioner leading her innocent child to the gallows. Dad was not there.
At exactly nine o'clock, the bailiff called the room to order, and Judge Harold Vance took the bench. Judge Vance was a formidable man in his late sixties, with steel-gray hair, bushy eyebrows, and a reputation for having zero tolerance for estate squabbles.
""Matter of the Estate of Evelyn Margaret Miller,"" Judge Vance droned, opening the thick docket folder. ""We are here for final accounting approval and discharge of the executor, Garrett Miller. Do we have all interested parties?""
Garrett’s attorney stood up. ""Present, Your Honor. We have submitted the final petition and request that the estate be closed and distributions finalized.""
""Hold on,"" Judge Vance muttered, peering over his half-moon reading glasses. ""I see a formal written objection filed at seven-forty-five this morning by beneficiary Reed Miller. Is Mr. Reed Miller present?""
Uncle Arthur stood up, wheeling me forward toward the bar. ""Reed Miller is present, Your Honor. Represented by Arthur Vance Miller, admitted pro hac vice.""
Judge Vance’s eyebrows shot up. ""Arthur? Haven't seen you in this courthouse since ninety-nine. What brings you out of retirement?""
""A blatant, hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar theft from my late sister’s estate, Your Honor,"" Uncle Arthur said crisply.
Garrett audibly gasped. His attorney quickly turned and whispered something urgent into Garrett's ear, but Garrett pushed him away, standing up frantically.
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""Your Honor! My brother is lying!"" Garrett shouted, his voice cracking. ""He's bitter because Grandma loved me! He's trying to extort money from me when I did all the hard work taking care of her affairs!""
Judge Vance slammed his gavel down with a crack that echoed like a gunshot. ""Sit down, Mr. Miller! One more outburst like that and you will spend the rest of this hearing in a holding cell for contempt. Counsel, present your objection.""
