Chapter 2 - The Smoking Gun
Julian frowned, reaching for the paper. "Sabrina, give that to me. It's just her garbage."
"No," Sabrina said, pulling her hand back, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and sudden, burning fury. She looked from the paper to Julian, and then to the back of the courtroom where Victoria Vance had just quietly slipped in, dressed in her signature Chanel suit. "Julian, look at this. Look at the date. Look at the signature."
The judge tapped his gavel. "Ms. Cole, this is a court of law, not a spectator sport. If you have something to present, do so through counsel, or sit down."
Arthur Hartwell seized the moment. "Your Honor, the respondent's associate is holding a document that dropped from my client’s personal belongings. I ask that it be entered into temporary examination."
"Objection!" Sterling shouted. "Irrelevant!"
"Overruled," the judge said, gesturing to the bailiff. "Let me see the paper."
Sabrina didn't hand it to the bailiff. Instead, she stood up, her expensive linen suit wrinkling as she turned directly to the judge, her voice carrying a hysterical edge. "Your Honor, this is a handwritten agreement. It’s on Victoria Vance's personal stationery. It’s dated the exact day Clarabel was in the hospital."
Julian grabbed Sabrina's arm. "Sabrina, shut up! Sit down!"
"Get off me, Julian!" Sabrina snapped, ripping her arm away. For the first time, the perfect facade of the elegant mistress cracked. She looked terrified, and then, incredibly angry. "You told me she signed the postnup voluntarily! You told me she wanted out! But this... this is a contract between your mother and a notary named Marcus Vance!"
The courtroom erupted into a low murmur.
Clarabel’s heart hammered against her ribs. She looked at the diaper bag. She hadn't put that paper there. Then, she remembered. Her grandmother, who had worked as a housekeeper for the Vance family for forty years before passing away, had left Clarabel a box of old keepsakes. Clarabel had thrown some of her grandmother's old sewing kits and papers into the bottom compartment of the diaper bag weeks ago, never thoroughly checking the hidden zippered lining.
Her grandmother must have found this document in Victoria's study before she died and hid it to protect Clarabel.
The judge read the paper silently. His brow furrowed. His expression hardened into granite.
"Mr. Vance," the judge said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. "Do you care to explain why there is a handwritten agreement, signed by your mother, Victoria Vance, promising a payment of fifty thousand dollars to a licensed notary to 'witness and stamp' a document in a hospital intensive care unit without the signee's conscious consent?"
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Julian’s face turned the color of ash. He turned slowly to look at his mother in the gallery.
Victoria Vance stood perfectly still, her face a mask of cold aristocracy, but her fingers were clenching her designer handbag so tightly the leather creaked.
