Chapter 8 - The Counter-Strike
Judge Rodriguez’s pen scratched across the paper, the sound cutting through the stunned silence of Chambers 301.
"First: The emergency application for custody filed by Graham Hartwell is dismissed with prejudice.
"Second: I am issuing an immediate, temporary Ex-Parte Protective Order against Graham Hartwell. You are prohibited from coming within one thousand feet of Eliza Hartwell, the minor children Nora and Miles Hartwell, and your daughter, Willa Hartwell.
"Third: Exclusive possession of the marital residence on West Shore Drive is awarded immediately to Eliza Hartwell. Mr. Hartwell will be permitted one supervised visit by a Dallas County Constable to retrieve his personal clothing and toiletries between the hours of five and six PM today. Nothing else leaves that house.
"Fourth: All parental rights and access regarding the infants are suspended pending a full psychological evaluation and a forensic accounting review.
"Fifth: In light of the evidence of subornation of perjury and attempted fraud, I am remanding the record of these proceedings directly to the Dallas County District Attorney’s Office for immediate criminal investigation."
Graham slumped back into his chair, looking as though he had been hit with a sledgehammer. Bradley Cooper was already packing his briefcase, refusing to meet his client's frantic, pleading gaze.
"Your Honor," Sarah Vance spoke up. "Regarding the minor child, Willa Hartwell. Willa has expressed severe emotional distress regarding remaining in the custody of either Mr. Hartwell or Candace Hartwell, who has not held legal physical custody in seven years. Willa has formally requested temporary placement with her stepmother, Eliza Hartwell."
Judge Rodriguez looked down at me. For the first time, his stern face softened into something approaching fatherly concern.
"Mrs. Hartwell," he asked gently. "You have newborn twins who are not even two weeks old. You are recovering from major surgery. Are you prepared to take legal responsibility for a thirteen-year-old child who is not your biological daughter?"
I stood up, holding my shoulders back, looking directly into the judge's eyes.
"Your Honor, Willa has been my daughter in every way that matters for four years. She was a victim of her father’s manipulation, not a perpetrator. I will protect her with everything I have."
Judge Rodriguez nodded once, a brief, decisive tilt of his head. "Temporary managing conservatorship of Willa Hartwell is awarded to Eliza Hartwell. Court is adjourned."
The gavel came down.
Two Dallas County deputies stepped behind Graham’s chair. "Mr. Hartwell, stand up. You're being escorted from the building."
"Eliza!" Graham shouted, straining against the deputies' grip as they pulled him toward the side exit. "Eliza, talk to me! We can settle this! Don't let them take Willa! Think about our family!"
I didn't answer. I didn't even turn around to watch him get dragged away.
Candace tried to slip past us in the corridor, her high heels clicking rapidly toward the elevators.
"Ms. Hartwell," Sarah Vance called out pleasantly.
Candace stopped, trembling, but didn't turn around.
"The District Attorney’s office will likely be contacting you by tomorrow afternoon regarding conspiracy charges," Sarah said, her voice smooth as silk. "I strongly recommend you do not attempt to board a flight back to California. Have a wonderful day in Dallas."
Candace stepped into the elevator, the sliding doors cutting off her pale, panicked face.
When we stepped out onto the granite courthouse steps into the bright Texas morning sunlight, Renee was waiting near the fountain, pushing the double stroller with Nora and Miles tucked safely inside. Willa sat on the edge of the stone basin, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
The moment Willa saw my face, she stood up, her breath catching in her throat.
"Willa," I said, walking down the steps toward her.
She looked terrified, like a shelter dog expecting a blow. "Did... did he win?"
"No, sweetheart," I said, reaching out and pulling her into a tight, warm hug, ignoring the twinge in my stitches. "He didn't win. You're coming home with us."
Willa buried her face in my shoulder, her arms wrapping around my waist, and wept so hard that her entire body shook.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry about the punch, Eliza. I was so scared."
May you like
"I know, baby," I whispered, kissing the top of her dark hair. "I know. It's over now. Nobody is ever going to use you again."
***
