Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Sit down, Mr. Rotenburg.” Judge Laudermilk’s tone is anything but holly and jolly, his blue eyes frigid. “I’m very aware of your position as I did my homework and actually read the legal briefs submitted ahead of time. I do not want this to turn into a contentious brawl, especially not when there is a child sitting in this courtroom. As such, I would like to have a private meeting in my chambers with you, just one of your clients—either Mr. or Mrs. Mardraggon, I care not which—” Judge Laudermilk pauses, looks over the courtroom and pins his gaze on Todd Gillam. “You, Mr. Gillam, as the attorney representing the child. I would like Miss Sylvie to join us as well.” Judge Laudermilk looks out into the gallery, his gaze landing on me. I’m surprised to be singled out. How the hell does the judge know who I am? “Mr. Blackburn. Please join us.”
The Mardraggons immediately engage in a whispered argument with their attorney, but it is Lionel Mardraggon who stands and follows Mr. Rotenburg through a swinging gate. Sylvie trails behind and I take up the rear, casting one last glance back at my family. They all smile with supportive love in their expressions. Wade gives me a double thumbs-up.
The judge’s office has the same paneled walls as the courtroom and, in the center, a massive wooden desk with clawed feet and a green banker’s lamp. Files are scattered about—on the desk, chairs and even the floor. There is a laptop, but it’s closed and under three files, giving me the impression it isn’t used often.
Judge Laudermilk discards his robes, hanging them on a hook on the back of his door, leaving him in a white dress shirt and navy tie. His shirt is tailored and fits nicely over his portly belly.
Turning his gaze to Sylvie, he extends his hand as he bends at the waist. “Hello, young lady. You must be Sylvie Mardraggon. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
My heart pounds as I stare at my daughter, waiting to hear her first words. Sylvie’s expression is guarded and she shakes the judge’s hand without saying a word.
“Manners, young lady,” Lionel Mardraggon orders his granddaughter in his imperious tone. “Say hello.”
Lionel’s stern and unyielding expression is uncalled for in this situation and I want to punch him for not being softer with his granddaughter.
“Hello,” Sylvie says softly, without dropping her gaze from the judge’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
In just those few words, my legs turn to Jell-O.
She has a French accent, and it shouldn’t be shocking since she was raised there, but the lilting intonation that lends a musical quality to her greeting constricts my chest. It is sweet and vulnerable and with Lionel Mardraggon’s harsh expression as he watches, it makes me feel overprotective in a way I don’t understand.
Judge Laudermilk gives Sylvie a wink and straightens. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he turns to the three other men in the room and looks at each of us individually before saying, “I don’t want to drag this out. I’ve read the petition by Mr. Gillam who was hired by Sylvie’s mother before she passed. There is an affidavit from Alaine Mardraggon under oath, stating that Ethan Blackburn is the father and that it is Alaine Mardraggon’s wish for Sylvie to reside with Ethan.”
I can’t help myself. My gaze leaves the judge and flicks down to Sylvie. I’ve been around children my entire life. It was part of my job when I actively trained our show riders, some as young as six years old. I can probably identify every negative emotion a child might wear upon their face and I know… Sylvie is not happy about the judge’s last statement.
“Judge Laudermilk,” Byron Rotenburg interrupts.
“I’m not finished, Mr. Rotenburg,” the judge says, holding up his hand. “I also understand your position. The Mardraggons are petitioning the court to grant custody to them as they believe Alaine was mentally incompetent at the time due to her brain cancer, and while I appreciate that concern, Mr. Gillam also provided an affidavit from Alaine’s neurosurgeon testifying that she was competent at the time she signed all of her documents under oath.”
“There’s the issue of paternity,” the Mardraggons’ attorney points out.
“Easily remedied with a paternity test,” the judge drawls and walks around his desk. “I’m ordering a test be done immediately.” And here, his eyes cut briefly to Sylvie, then to me, and back to Mr. Rotenburg. “But I’m sure we all know what the test will reveal.”
“I don’t wish to live with that man,” Sylvie says ever so softly and yet her words seem to reverberate around the room. Her eyes are pinned on me but she speaks to the judge. “I want to live with Lionel and Rosemund.”
I couldn’t have dragged my gaze from her face if I tried. I’m riveted by the anger and dislike I see there, and it’s aimed only at me. Her distaste is so visceral, I can’t process the fact that she called her grandparents by their first names or that she seems to have everyone in the judge’s chambers spellbound by her audacity and confidence to speak out in such a way.