Chapter 5: Thirty Thousand Reasons
The afternoon session began quietly.
Aaron placed the bank statements on the table in a neat stack.
He didn't announce them yet.
He just set them down where the judge could see there was more.
Denise noticed.
Her eyes went to the stack and stayed there for just a second too long.
"Your Honor," Aaron said, "I'd like to call Howard Briggs to the stand."
Mr.
Crane objected immediately.
"Your Honor, Mr.
Briggs is a co-petitioner, not a witness—"
"He is also a party to this proceeding," the judge said, "and counsel has the right to examine him.
Mr.
Briggs, please take the stand."
Howard stood slowly.
He straightened his tie.
He walked to the stand the way a man walks to something he has been dreading.
Aaron let him get settled.
Then: "Mr.
Briggs, how long have you been married to Denise?"
"Fourteen years."
"And in those fourteen years, have you ever borrowed money from Patricia and James Hargrove?"
A pause.
"We may have.
Once or twice.
Things were tight."
"Four times," Aaron said.
He picked up the first bank statement and handed it to the bailiff to pass to Howard.
"This is a transfer of eight thousand dollars from James Hargrove's personal account to a joint account held by you and Denise.
Dated March 2019.
Do you recognize it?"
Howard looked at the paper.
"I'd have to check our records."
"The account number on the receiving end matches the account number on your joint tax filing from that year, which I also have." Aaron picked up another sheet.
"This is a second transfer.
Twelve thousand.
October 2020." He picked up a third.
"Six thousand.
April 2022." He picked up the fourth.
"Thirty thousand.
August 2023.
Five months before the fire."
The gallery was very still.
"Mr.
Briggs, can you show me any record of repayment for any of these transfers?"
Howard's jaw moved.
"We intended to pay it back."
"That wasn't my question."
"We — things came up.
We had expenses."
"Fifty-six thousand dollars in loans from your wife's sister," Aaron said.
"No repayment.
And now you're petitioning to become guardian of that sister's seven-year-old daughter, who has a trust fund currently valued at—" he looked at his notepad "—four hundred and thirty thousand dollars."
The number sat in the room like a stone dropped in still water.
Howard said nothing.
"Mr.
Briggs." Aaron's voice stayed even.
"When you said on that recording, *'Think about all the money we'll get,'* were you referring to Vicky's trust fund?"
"That recording was taken out of context—"
"Were you referring to Vicky's trust fund?"
"I want to speak to my lawyer."
"You're on the stand, Mr.
Briggs."
Denise's hand came down flat on the table.
"This is outrageous," she said, loudly enough that the judge looked at her directly.
"Ms.
Briggs," he said, "you will be silent or I will have you removed from your own hearing.
Is that understood?"
Denise pressed her lips together.
Her lawyer put a hand on her arm.
Howard stepped down from the stand a few minutes later looking smaller than when he'd walked up.
Mr.
Crane tried to repair things.
He called a character witness — a woman from their church who spoke warmly about Denise's kindness and community involvement.
The woman smiled at the gallery.
Denise smiled back.
I watched the judge.
He was writing something.
He didn't look up during the character testimony.
After the witness stepped down, the judge set his pen flat on the desk.
"I'm going to take a thirty-minute recess," he said.
"When we return, I'll hear closing statements.
Then I'll make my ruling."
He stood.
Everyone stood.
And then Denise turned to me across the room, and for the first time all day, she spoke to me directly.
Not to her lawyer.
Not to the judge.
To me.
"You think you've won something," she said, low enough that only I could hear.
"You have no idea what I can still do.
You're a child, Michael.
Children make mistakes."
I looked at her.
I didn't answer.
She turned away.
I sat back down and looked at my hands on the table.
They weren't trembling anymore.
May you like
But the threat was real.
And I knew it.
