Chapter 10
The morning hours ticked by in a relentless procession of testimony, legal arguments, and procedural objections. Sterling called a series of minor witnesses—hotel staff from the wedding venue, a disgruntled former nanny whom Clara had paid off, and a hired psychological consultant who had never actually met Toby or Elena in person. Each witness attempted to paint Elena as high-strung and overwhelmed by the immense pressures of managing the St. Jude estate alongside a young child.
Elena sat at the defense table, her hands resting calmly on the polished wood. She listened to the distortions and exaggerations of her character with a quiet detachment, remembering Marcus’s warning: Stay composed. Do not give them the reaction they want.
When it was Marcus Vance’s turn to cross-examine Clara’s star witness—the hired consultant—he didn't raise his voice or bully the man. Instead, he systematically dismantled the consultant’s credibility by highlighting the glaring lack of firsthand observations, the absence of standardized testing, and, most damningly, the substantial consulting fees paid directly from Clara Vance’s personal bank accounts just forty-eight hours before the court filing.
The courtroom gallery shifted uneasily as the financial paper trail was projected onto the digital screens in the courtroom. The consultant squirmed under the glare of the lights, stuttering out unconvincing justifications for the retainer payments.
Judge Harrison leaned forward, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. His gaze fixed coldly on Clara, who sat at the plaintiff’s table looking increasingly rigid and tense. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of her folder.
“Mr. Sterling,” Judge Harrison said quietly, though every word carried immense weight. “Your expert witness’s professional objectivity appears to have been severely compromised by a financial retainer from the opposing party. I suggest you move on to more substantive evidence, or we will be concluding these proceedings very shortly.”
Sterling swallowed hard, flashing an anxious look at Clara before requesting a brief ten-minute recess to consult with his client.
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As the judge banged his gavel and retired to chambers for the break, Julian leaned over to Elena and whispered, “He’s losing control of the narrative. Clara’s house of cards is collapsing.”
“Don’t celebrate yet,” Elena whispered back, though a small, relieved smile touched the corners of her mouth. “Clara is like a cornered animal. She still has one card left to play.”
