Chapter 8 - The Price of Treachery
The silence that followed Colin’s declaration in open court was absolute. Bradley Vance looked as if he wanted the wooden floorboards to open up and swallow him whole.
Judge Harrison slammed his gavel down with a sharp crack that rattled the water glasses on the counsel tables. "Plaintiff’s motion for a temporary injunction is denied with extreme prejudice. Furthermore, this court finds that this action was filed in bad faith, without reasonable inquiry, and solely for the improper purpose of harassment and financial coercion. Mr. Bradley Vance, you and your client, Jessica Vance, are jointly and severally assessed a penalty of twenty-five thousand dollars payable to the court, and you are ordered to reimburse Defendant for all legal fees incurred in defending this frivolous circus. I am also referring your conduct to the State Bar of Texas Disciplinary Committee for investigation regarding false statements of fact."
"Your Honor, please!" Jessica shrieked, springing out of her seat. "This isn't fair! That old woman has thirty million dollars! She let my son live in an apartment! She watched our marriage collapse! She’s hoarding money that belongs to family!"
"Bailiff, remove Mrs. Vance from my courtroom," Judge Harrison barked, not even looking up as he scribbled furiously on his docket sheet. "One more outburst and you will spend forty-eight hours in county lockup for direct contempt."
Two armed bailiffs moved in immediately, taking Jessica by the elbows and steering her toward the double doors. She fought against their grip, her high heels scraping against the terrazzo floor, screaming obscenities at Richard, at me, and finally at Colin. The news cameras in the hallway flashed like strobe lights the moment the doors opened, capturing her disheveled hair, her tear-stained makeup, and her humiliation for the six o’clock evening news.
When the courtroom cleared, only Richard, Colin, and I remained in the high-ceilinged room. Colin stood near the railing separating the gallery from the well of the court. He looked smaller, his shoulders sunken, but the ugly arrogance that had lived on his face for the last ten years was completely gone. He looked like a man who had stared into a mirror, seen an ugly monster looking back, and had finally broken the glass.
"Mom," Colin whispered, his voice trembling.
I turned around slowly, holding my handbag in the crook of my arm. "Yes, Colin?"
"I'm sorry," he said. He didn't come closer. He didn't try to touch me or reach for my coat. He kept his distance, keeping his head low. "I’m sorry for the lie. I'm sorry for letting her treat you like dirt. I'm sorry for the way I let myself think that having a big title at an office meant I was better than the woman who raised me."
"Why did you speak up today?" I asked, looking him in the eye. "If you had backed her lie, she might have squeezed a few million out of me. As her husband, half of that would have settled your debts in the divorce."
A bitter, sorrowful smile touched Colin’s lips. "I realized something while I was sleeping in that cheap rental apartment on an air mattress, Mom. When Jessica was screaming at me to lie for her on the stand, promising we could get back together and live like royalty, I looked at her and felt sick. I realized that if I took one dollar of that money through a lie, I would never be able to look Lucas in the eye again. I’ve already failed as a husband, and I failed miserably as a son. I didn't want to fail as a human being."
Richard glanced at me, giving a faint, almost imperceptible nod before stepping outside into the corridor to give us privacy.
"What are you going to do now, Colin?" I asked quietly.
"I took that interview with Richard’s friend at the logistics firm," Colin said, wiping a stray tear with the cuff of his shirt. "It’s not an executive vice-president role. It’s an assistant operations manager position out by the rail yard in San Marcos. Thirty-two dollars an hour, night shift, five days a week. It pays enough to cover child support for Lucas and rent on a small studio apartment. I sold my watches. I gave the BMW back to the bank. I’m starting from zero, Mom. Just like Dad did when he first started laying track for the Southern Pacific."
A quiet ache pulled at the center of my chest. Arthur had started at the San Marcos yard forty years ago, coming home with grease under his fingernails and blisters on his palms, never complaining once because he wanted to put Colin in a warm house with decent shoes.
"Your father never ran from hard work, Colin," I said gently. "He only hated two things in this world: dishonest men and sons who forgot their mothers."
"I know," Colin choked out. "I won't ask you for anything. I won't come to your house. I just wanted you to hear the truth in a room full of people. You didn't raise a criminal, even if I acted like a fool."
He turned to walk away, his scuffed shoes squeaking softly on the floor.
"Colin," I called out.
He stopped, turning his head back toward me with a flicker of hesitation.
"Lucas," I said. "Where is he staying while the divorce is being fought out?"
Colin’s face darkened with genuine grief. "Jessica’s parents dumped him in a temporary boarding school outside Fort Worth because Jessica didn't want him interfering with her social schedule. They only take him on alternating weekends. He called me last night crying, Mom. He misses his room. He misses his grandmother. He said nobody makes breakfast for him before class, and all the kids have families who come to their soccer games."
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My grip tightened on my leather purse. A mother’s heart can draw a steel boundary against an adult child who turns greedy, but a twelve-year-old child who was dragged along in the wake of grown-up vanity was an innocent soul.
"Go to San Marcos and work your shifts, Colin," I told him, my voice steady and firm. "Learn what an honest dollar feels like. And let me handle my grandson."
