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"They wanted to make a deal," she said. "They offered fifty percent of my son's estate if I didn't force this court hearing and just gave them Pearl." "What?" Beau stammered.
"She's lying!" I cried.
The judge rapped his gavel. "I warned you. No outbursts," he reprimanded.
"But . ."
"Be still," Monsieur Polk ordered.
I cowered back, shrinking in my chair with rage burning my cheeks. Was there no limit to how far she would go to satisfy her thirst for vengeance?
"What happened then, madame?" Monsieur Williams asked.
"1 refused, of course, and they threatened to take me to court, which they have done."
"No further questions, Your Honor," Monsieur Williams said.
The judge looked at Monsieur Polk with hard eyes. "Do you have any questions for this witness?"
"No, Your Honor."
"What? Make her take back these lies," I urged. "No. It's better to get rid of her. She has everyone's sympathy. Even the judge's," Monsieur Polk advised. Monsieur Williams helped Madame Tate out of the seat and escorted her back to her chair. Some people in the audience were openly crying for her.
"You won't get the child back today, if you ever do," Monsieur Polk muttered, half under his breath.
"Oh, Beau," I wailed. "She's winning. She'll be a terrible grandmother. She doesn't love Pearl. She knows Pearl's not Paul's child."
"Monsieur Williams?" the judge said.
"No further witnesses or exhibits, Your Honor," he said confidently.
Monsieur Polk sat back, his hands on his stomach, his face dour. I looked across the courtroom at Gladys, who was preparing to leave in victory. Octavious still had his eyes fixed on the table.
"Call one more witness, Monsieur Polk," I said in desperation.
"What's that?"
Beau took my hand. We gazed into each other's eyes and he nodded. I turned back to our attorney.
"Call one more witness. I'll tell you just what to ask," I said. "Call Octavious Tate to the stand."
"Do it!" Beau ordered firmly.
Monsieur Polk rose slowly from his seat, unsure, tentative, and reluctant.
"Monsieur Polk?" the judge said.
"We have one more witness, Your Honor," he said. The judge looked displeased. "Very well," he said.
"Let's conclude this matter. Call your final witness," he added, emphasizing the word "final."
"We call Monsieur Tate to the stand."
A ripple of astonishment moved through the audience. I wrote feverishly on a piece of paper. The judge rapped his gavel and glared at the crowd of people, who immediately grew still. No one wanted to be removed from this courtroom now. Octavious, stunned by the sound of his name, lifted his head slowly and gazed around as if he just realized where he was. Monsieur Williams leaned over to whisper some strategy to him before he stood up. I handed my questions to Monsieur Polk, who perused them quickly and then looked at me sharply.
"Madame," he warned, "you could lose any sympathetic ear you might have if this proves untrue."
"We don't have any sympathy here," Beau answered for me.
