Chapter 6: The Hearing
The courtroom was smaller than I expected.
Wood paneling, fluorescent light, three rows of benches mostly empty on a Tuesday morning.
Patricia sat beside me.
Gerald Marsh sat one row behind — I had met him in person for the first time that morning in the corridor outside.
He was in his late sixties, slight, with the kind of quiet steadiness that comes from decades of keeping other people's secrets safely.
He had shaken my hand and said, "Your father talked about you every week."
I hadn't been able to answer that.
I'd just nodded.
Raymond Coyle was already seated at the opposite table when we came in.
He was heavier than I had imagined from his voice.
Broad-shouldered, silver-haired, a suit that was expensive ten years ago.
He didn't look at me when I sat down.
He was speaking in low tones to the man beside him — young, nervous-looking, shuffling papers.
"That's not a real lawyer," Patricia murmured.
"That's his nephew.
He couldn't get anyone qualified to take this on short notice."
The judge entered.
The room stood, then sat.
The hearing was for the emergency injunction — whether the assets would be frozen pending the full fraud investigation.
Coyle's side argued first.
The nephew stood and read from his notes in a voice that kept losing its place.
He argued that the second document was unverified, that my father's mental state at the time of signing was in question, and that the injunction would cause undue financial harm to his client.
Patricia stood when it was our turn.
She placed the notarized declaration on the record.
She placed the medical records from my father's GP on the record.
She placed the audio recording of Coyle's phone call — the extortion attempt — on the record.
The nephew half-rose from his chair.
"That recording —"
"Was made with full legal compliance," Patricia said without turning around.
"I can provide the technical documentation."
The judge looked at Coyle over her glasses.
He was looking at the table.
"The injunction is granted," the judge said.
"All assets under the disputed management clause are frozen pending full investigation.
Additionally, I am referring the audio recording to the Crown Prosecution Service for review." She looked at Coyle directly.
"Mr.
Coyle, I would strongly advise you to retain qualified legal counsel before your next appearance."
Coyle stood up.
His chair scraped back hard.
"This isn't finished," he said.
It wasn't directed at the judge.
It was directed at me.
The judge's voice went flat.
"Sit down, Mr.
Coyle.
Or I will add contempt to your growing list of concerns."
He sat.
Outside in the corridor afterward, Gerald handed me a coffee from the machine by the stairs.
It was bad coffee.
I drank it anyway.
"He'll try something else," Gerald said.
"I know."
"He still has the development company.
They paid him a deposit.
He needs that sale."
"He won't get it."
Gerald looked at me the way my father used to look at me when I said something he agreed with but wasn't sure I fully understood yet.
"There's something else," he said.
"Something I didn't want to tell you before the hearing."
I lowered the cup.
"Ethan called me this morning," Gerald said.
"He wants to talk to you."
I hadn't spoken to Ethan since he walked out of the bedroom two days ago.
I hadn't thought about what came next for him — not really.
I had been moving too fast.
"What did he say?" I asked.
"He said he has something.
Something Coyle gave him to hold.
He didn't know what it was at the time.
He thinks it might be the evidence Coyle was planning to use against your father's reputation."
I set the coffee cup down on the windowsill.
If Ethan had it — and if he was willing to hand it over — Coyle had nothing left.
But Ethan was also my husband.
And I had not decided yet what that meant.
"Tell him I'll meet him," I said.
"Somewhere neutral."
Gerald nodded.
He took out his phone.
Down the corridor, through the glass doors, I could see Coyle walking toward the exit with his nephew.
At the door, he stopped.
He turned back and looked straight at me through the glass.
May you like
Then he smiled.
It was the smile of a man who still believed he had one move left.
