Garrison Ford didn’t even stand up. He looked at the three-inch binder Catherine had dropped in front of him as if it were a live grenade. He was a man who specialized in bullying the defenseless; he had no protocols for surviving a direct hit from Catherine Bennett. “We… we require a recess to review the, uh, newly presented materials, Your Honor,” he stammered, his “Butcher” persona having completely bled out onto the floor.
“Denied,” Henderson snapped. He turned his gaze toward Keith. “Mr. Simmons, you stood in my court and spoke of your wife’s ‘incompetence.’ You spoke of ‘charity cases.’ It appears the only thing incompetent here was your belief that you could bury the truth under a layer of expensive tailoring.”
The Judge picked up his gavel, but he didn’t swing it yet. He looked at me, and for the first time, he saw me—not as a docket number, but as the woman who had survived the siege. “Mrs. Simmons, your counsel has presented a motion to void the prenuptial agreement in its entirety and to freeze all assets—domestic and international—pending a full forensic audit. Does the defense have anything to add?”
I felt a hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t the heavy, controlling grip Keith used to use to keep me in my place. It was my mother’s hand—firm, steady, and finally, after twenty years of silence, supportive.
I stood up. I didn’t look at the judge. I looked at Keith.
