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That’s why this doesn’t make any freaking sense.
What am I still missing?
The car drops us at the courthouse. It’s not that busy, people streaming in and out, handling their own business or standing around with busy-looking lawyers.
I give Clara my arm to lean on for comfort as we check which courtroom we’re assigned to; then we make our way through the halls to the wood-paneled room.
There’s hardly anyone inside.
Just a few lawyers settled at tables on opposing sides. I see Marissa with her team, and Deb with the Little Key defense. Her eyes are red, but her face is cold and composed.
There’s an empty chair waiting for Clara.
A few reporters scroll their phones in the seating area, looking either anxious or disinterested.
The judge is an older man, balding and with a monk’s crown around the back of his head. The overhead lights reflect off the dark-brown skin of his skull and his narrow rimless glasses.
As we enter, the Little Key lawyers glance back at us. One lawyer catches the judge’s eye and nods. He straightens, shuffling through some pages on his desk.
“Everyone’s here?” the judge asks, his voice echoing in the solemn chamber.
I pat Clara’s hand and give her a gentle nudge. She looks petrified, but I know she’ll get through this, no matter what happens.
She’s tied with Gran as the strongest woman I’ve ever met.
“I’m here if you need me,” I whisper.
“I know. Thank you, dear.”
She pulls away and drifts to her seat, settling in next to Deb.
I claim a place in the row behind her, making sure to stay as close as I can.
Marissa looks so smug I wonder if she’s drunk again.
An ugly thought inside me says she didn’t deserve the kindness August showed her that night he helped her home. But even I can’t help but hurt for her too.
This crusade of hers is horribly misguided. I know she’s trying to take from Clara to make up for what she’s lost.
Pain makes us do crazy things.
Sometimes it makes us merciless.
“All present, Your Honor,” the lawyer on our side says.
The judge bangs his gavel once, quick and perfunctory.
“Calling to order, Judge Harris presiding. We’re here for the case of Sullivan v. Marshall, regarding intellectual property rights for creative copyright over a series of children’s book characters and all associated trademarked merchandise, branding, and properties.” He frowns at the pages. “It looks like you’ve reached an agreement regarding a settlement. That means we can dismiss this case in favor of the plaintiff, with the defendant surrendering all rights voluntarily. So, why are we here again?”
Marissa opens her mouth, but she doesn’t get to finish.
The courtroom door slams open.
“Because,” August says, his voice projecting authority and determination, all dark fire. He steps inside with a slim older woman behind him, still pretty with her long greying red hair in a braid and a matching grey dress. “The defendant’s confession was forced under duress, and the entire premise of this case is a lie.”
XXVI
STRUCK BY LIGHTNING
