Chapter 5 - The Legal Ambush
I read through the conservatorship filing with a red pen, marking it up like a first-year law student’s failed exam. The audacity of it was almost impressive.
They had hired a bottom-feeding attorney named Richard Kline. Kline was known in the local circuit for pushing through shady elder-abuse conservatorships for greedy families. The petition claimed I was suffering from "severe paranoia, financial irresponsibility, and rapid cognitive decline." As evidence, they cited my "irrational outburst" at the restaurant and attached a sworn affidavit from Elena claiming I had left the stove on and nearly burned the house down—a complete fabrication.
They had filed for an ex parte emergency hearing, hoping to catch me off guard and get a temporary order signed before I could mount a defense. The hearing was scheduled for the following Tuesday.
They wanted a fight. I decided to give them a massacre.
I didn't hire a lawyer. When you have twenty-five years of case law memorized and a Rolodex of the most powerful legal minds in the state, you don't need representation. You need an audience.
I spent the weekend gathering my ammunition. I called Arthur Vance and had him officially certify the financial audit of NovaTech. I drove to my primary care physician and underwent a grueling, comprehensive cognitive and psychological evaluation, scoring in the 99th percentile.
Then, I made a visit to Le Petit Château. The restaurant manager, still furious about the unpaid bill and the scene Marcus had caused, was more than happy to let me view the security footage. I pointed out the camera positioned directly over our private table.
“I need a copy of that footage,” I told the manager. “I will also pay the balance of my son’s tab today, in cash, on the condition that you sign a sworn affidavit detailing exactly what happened that night.”
The manager smiled. “For a chance to stick it to that arrogant brat? I’ll sign whatever you want, ma'am.”
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I compiled my dossiers. I ironed my best navy-blue tailored suit. I polished the pearl earrings Daniel had given me—a reminder of the boy he used to be, before greed hollowed him out.
Tuesday morning arrived with a gray, ominous sky. I drove myself to the county courthouse. The same courthouse where my portrait hung in the Hall of Honor on the third floor.
