Chapter 9 - The Hearing That Could Take Everything
The courthouse was smaller than I expected. There were no chandeliers, no dramatic staircases, only fluorescent lights and people carrying folders that could change entire lives. Charles Ashford arrived with three attorneys and the confidence of a man accustomed to buying favorable outcomes. Victoria followed him in a charcoal suit. She didn't look at me, which was somehow worse than her insults.
Margaret presented the trust documents and Elena's correspondence. Charles's attorney argued that Elena had been too ill to understand what she signed. Then Margaret called the doctor who had treated her. He explained that Elena had remained mentally competent throughout the relevant period and had insisted on independent counsel. The judge listened without expression.
I was called to testify about the night of the engagement party. I described Rosa's swollen feet, the untouched dinner, the keys she tried to return, and Victoria's claim that Antonio had to be moved. Charles's lawyer asked whether I had romantic feelings for Nico. My cheeks burned. “I do,” I said. “But I didn't when I brought Rosa that plate. I saw someone who needed help.” The courtroom went quiet. “And even if I had,” I added, “it wouldn't change what happened.”
Victoria's attorney tried to portray Rosa as forgetful. Rosa took the witness chair with her hands trembling. She described thirty-seven years of service, Elena's promises, and the fear she felt when told she'd be evicted. “I didn't want money,” she said. “I wanted to watch the roses bloom.” Even the judge softened.
The court denied Charles's request for emergency control of the trust, finding that he had not shown sufficient grounds to displace the existing arrangements. It wasn't a final victory, but it kept Rosa in her cottage and Antonio in his home. Outside, reporters shouted questions. Nico put himself between the cameras and Rosa, but he let her decide whether to speak. She lifted her chin. “I'm going home,” she said. “My roses need watering.”
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That night, Nico and I finally had our dinner. We chose a quiet family restaurant where the owner greeted every server by name. He asked about my classes. I asked about his mother. We spoke like two people trying to know each other rather than two characters trapped in a scandal. When he walked me to my door, he paused. “May I kiss you?” I answered by reaching for his hand.
The kiss was gentle, almost shy. For a moment, the lawsuits and cameras disappeared. Then my phone buzzed. It was my father. Someone had broken into his house and taken the folder containing his original Port Mercer invoices. He was unharmed, but terrified. Nico heard the panic in my voice. “I'm coming,” he said. I shook my head. “Call the police first.” He did, and then he came with me.
