Chapter 6 - The Woman at the Locked Door
We returned to court on a Tuesday when the rain had turned the courthouse steps dark and slick.
Preston entered holding Vivian's arm as if he were the injured party.
Arthur followed, speaking loudly enough for the gallery to hear.
"Some people will say anything when money is involved."
I carried the locksmith invoice in a thin blue folder.
At the hearing, Martin portrayed my departure as voluntary and permanent.
I asked permission to question Preston briefly about his affidavit.
Judge Morrison allowed questions limited to access and residence.
"Did you change the locks on September ninth?" I asked.
"For security."
"Did you give me a new key?"
"You'd moved out."
"Did I send a written request to collect my belongings?"
He hesitated.
"Possibly."
I produced the email and delivery receipt.
Martin objected to the characterization, not the existence, of the message.
The judge reviewed it.
Preston had answered my request with six words: THIS ISN'T YOUR HOUSE ANYMORE, AMELIA.
Judge Morrison declined to give him exclusive possession on the present record and ordered supervised access for an inventory of my belongings.
It was a narrow ruling.
But Vivian reacted as though the judge had taken the house herself.
In the corridor, she stepped in front of me.
"You will regret humiliating my son."
I kept walking.
"Please address any concern through counsel."
Her expression changed, becoming colder and far more deliberate.
"You think Preston made every decision on his own?"
Before I could ask what she meant, Arthur pulled her away.
That afternoon, Dana Cho called with an update on the purported board minutes.
One listed director had died eight months before the supposed meeting.
The document could not be genuine as dated.
It was our strongest lead yet.
Then Dana added the detail that made my blood run cold.
"Amelia, the minutes also name you as the person who presented the motion."
May you like
I had been overseas on that date.
