Chapter 8 - The Hearing
The courtroom was dark, paneled in heavy walnut, lit by long brass fluorescent fixtures hanging from the ceiling.
Judge Robert Sterling—a stern, white-haired man in his sixties—sat behind the high mahogany bench, scanning a stack of legal papers through gold-rimmed reading glasses.
Valerie’s lead attorney, a slick man in his fifties named Henderson, stood at the petitioner’s table.
"Your Honor," Henderson began, his voice booming through the quiet room. "We are requesting an immediate emergency stay on the spousal equity transfer involving Miss Emily Carter—now claiming to be Emily Shaw. We have submitted evidence showing that the marriage executed yesterday was a bad-faith transaction designed specifically to strip Carter Textiles of its primary restructuring capital."
Judge Sterling looked over his glasses down at Emily, who sat alone at the respondent’s table.
"Mrs. Shaw," the judge said, his voice flat and impartial. "Where is your legal counsel?"
"I don't have counsel, Your Honor," Emily said, standing up. Her voice trembled slightly, but she forced herself to meet the judge's eyes. "I am representing myself."
Henderson let out a quiet, condescending chuckle that echoed off the walnut walls.
"Your Honor," Henderson continued, holding up a paper folder. "We have checked the respondent's financial records. She has twenty-eight dollars in her bank account. Her alleged husband, Mr. Adrian Shaw, is an employee at a small accounting office earning eighty-two thousand dollars annually. They have no shared assets, no shared history, and no cohabitation record prior to yesterday afternoon. This marriage is a transparent sham."
"It is not a sham," Emily said loudly, her fingers digging into the edge of the wooden table. "I am legally married under the laws of the State of California. My stepmother is attempting to force me into a marriage with Julian Vance against my will to cover her own corporate debts—"
"Silence, Mrs. Shaw," Judge Sterling warned, tapping his gavel once. He looked down at Henderson’s filing. "Mr. Henderson, while the timing of the marriage is suspicious, a validly executed marriage certificate from the County of Los Angeles cannot simply be set aside without a formal evidentiary hearing on—"
The heavy double doors at the back of the courtroom burst open.
The sound echoed through the high-ceilinged room like a gunshot.
Every head in the courtroom turned.
A man stepped through the doorway.
He was not wearing worn jeans. He was not wearing a tweed jacket.
He wore a bespoke charcoal wool suit that looked like it cost more than Valerie’s Chanel outfit, a navy silk tie, and a dark platinum watch that caught the overhead light as he walked down the center aisle.
Behind him stepped four men in dark grey suits carrying thick leather litigation bags—the senior partners from Latham & Watkins.
And beside them walked Clara, holding an iPad in her hands.
Emily’s breath locked in her throat.
"Adrian?" she whispered.
He didn't look like the man she had eaten pad thai with on the floor of the Pasadena apartment. He walked with the heavy, terrifying authority of a man who owned the building, the street outside, and the city beyond it.
He walked straight up to the respondent’s table, pulled out the chair beside Emily, and sat down.
"Apologies for the delay, Your Honor," Adrian said, his voice deep, calm, and utterly commanding. "Traffic on Wilshire was heavy."
Henderson stared at Adrian, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Who are you? Are you the respondent's accountant?"
One of the senior lawyers behind Adrian stepped forward, placing a thick leather bound binder onto the judge's bench.
"My name is Arthur Pendelton, senior litigation partner at Latham & Watkins," the lawyer announced. "We are representing Mr. Adrian Shaw and Mrs. Emily Shaw in this matter."
Henderson laughed nervously. "Latham & Watkins? For an eighty-thousand-dollar accountant?"
Pendelton looked at Henderson as if he were a fly on a windowpane.
"Mr. Adrian Shaw is the Chief Executive Officer and primary shareholder of Crestmont Global Holdings," Pendelton said flatly.
A gasp echoed from the gallery.
Valerie’s face turned from beige to a sickening, ghostly white. She stood up from her chair, her hands clutching her Chanel purse so tightly her knuckles turned blue.
"What?" Valerie shrieked, forgetting where she was. "That's impossible! Crestmont Global is a twelve-billion-dollar investment trust!"
"Sit down, Mrs. Carter!" Judge Sterling barked, slamming his gavel hard.
Adrian didn't look at Valerie. He didn't look at Henderson.
He slowly turned his head to look at Emily.
May you like
His grey eyes were soft, filled with a quiet, steady heat that made her heart stop entirely.
"I received your message," he whispered to her across the small wooden table. "I brought my paperwork."
