Chapter 3 - The Order of Protection
The following afternoon, I sat in the front row of Courtroom 4B, wearing a dark turtleneck and a wide-brimmed hat that shadowed the white gauze bandage taped across my temple. Beside me sat Rebecca Shaw.
Across the aisle sat Marcus, Diane, and Tyler, sitting beside a greasy-haired private defense attorney named Gordon Pike.
The side door clanked open, and the bailiff led the prisoners into the courtroom. Marissa shuffled in wearing an orange county jumpsuit, her hands cuffed to a chain around her waist. Her sleek blonde blowout from the night before was now a rat’s nest, and mascara was smeared down her cheeks. When she saw me, her eyes flashed with pure, unadulterated venom.
“Case number 24-CR-8819, State of Ohio versus Marissa Vance,” the clerk announced.
Judge Arthur Campbell, a stern-faced man with wire-rimmed glasses, flipped through the charging documents. His eyebrows knitted together as he reviewed the attached photographs.
“State seeks twenty-five thousand dollars cash bail, your Honor,” the prosecutor stated. “The defendant used a blunt object to strike an elderly victim in the head following a dispute over real property. The victim sustained severe lacerations requiring emergency medical intervention. We also request an immediate, no-contact criminal protective order.”
Gordon Pike jumped to his feet. “Your Honor, my client is a middle school English teacher with no prior criminal record! She is a pillar of her community. This was an unfortunate household accident during a heated emotional discussion regarding family estate planning. The victim is her husband’s grandmother. We ask for release on her own recognizance.”
Judge Campbell peered over his glasses at Pike, then looked directly at Marissa.
“Mr. Pike, I’ve reviewed the crime scene photographs,” Judge Campbell said, his voice cold. “A ceramic dinner plate does not accidentally detach itself from a table and strike a seventy-two-year-old woman in the forehead with enough force to shatter against the drywall behind her. That requires intent, velocity, and a grotesque disregard for human life.”
Marissa let out a stifled sob, turning her head toward Tyler. Tyler squirmed in his seat, keeping his eyes glued to the floor.
“Bail is set at fifty thousand dollars, ten percent cash allowed,” Judge Campbell ruled, slamming his gavel. “A temporary protection order is issued immediately. Defendant is to have zero contact, direct or indirect, through third parties or electronic means, with Evelyn Cross. She is not to come within five hundred feet of Mrs. Cross’s residence, her rental properties, or her legal counsel’s office. Any violation will result in immediate revocation of bail.”
“Fifty thousand?” Marcus shouted from the gallery, standing up. “Your Honor, that is exorbitant! We don’t have that kind of cash on hand!”
*Bang!*
“One more word out of you, sir, and I will hold you in summary contempt of court and put you in a holding cell right next to your daughter,” Judge Campbell warned. “Clear the court.”
As the bailiff pushed Marissa through the exit door, she screamed over her shoulder: “You miserable old witch! You ruined us! Tyler, don’t you dare give her a dime! Don’t you dare speak to her!”
Outside the courthouse steps, Marcus caught up to Rebecca and me, Diane clutching his arm like a dead weight. Tyler lagged behind them, looking like a ghost.
“Shaw, wait!” Marcus shouted, his face purple with fury. “We need to talk reasonably. I know you think you hold all the cards here, but I have contacts in the county auditor’s office. I know what that rental property is worth. If you force Marissa to trial, I will sue Evelyn in civil court for intentional infliction of emotional distress! I will drag this out until she spends every penny Harold left her on legal fees!”
Rebecca stopped, turned on her heel, and smiled. It was the terrifying, icy smile of an apex predator that had just smelled blood.
“Marcus,” Rebecca said smoothly, pulling a crisp white envelope from her purse. “I spent this morning running a comprehensive title and asset search on you and Diane.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
“You don’t have five thousand dollars for Marissa’s bail bondsman, do you?” Rebecca asked quietly.
Diane gasped, clutching Marcus’s arm tighter. “Marcus… what is she talking about?”
“Shut up, Diane,” Marcus hissed.
“You see, Evelyn,” Rebecca continued, looking at me, “Mr. Vance isn’t just looking for a cozy retirement home for his wife. Mr. Vance’s financial advisory firm has been under audit by the state licensing board for six months. Three weeks ago, a notice of default was filed on his primary residence. Marcus is eighty-four thousand dollars in arrears on his mortgage, and two of his former clients have filed complaints alleging he commingled their retirement funds with his personal accounts.”
I looked at Marcus. The pompous, arrogant financial wizard had shriveled before my eyes.
“You didn’t want my rental house for Diane’s garden,” I said, the realization hitting me like a cold wave. “You wanted to seize my paid-off property, put it in Marissa’s name, and take out a second mortgage to pay off your fraud before the state board stripped your license and sent you to federal prison.”
Marcus took a step back, his eyes darting frantically. “That’s… that’s privileged financial data! How did you get that?”
“Public records, Marcus,” Rebecca whispered. “And unlike you, I know how to read them. Now, if you take one more step toward Mrs. Cross, I won’t just enforce the restraining order. I will personally forward my research to the Financial Industry Regulatory Authority before lunch.”
Marcus grabbed Diane’s hand and practically dragged her toward the parking garage without looking back.
Tyler stood alone on the granite courthouse steps, the autumn wind whipping his jacket around his frame. He looked at me, his eyes pleading, tears tracking through the stubble on his cheeks.
“Grandma…” he whispered.
May you like
“Don’t, Tyler,” I said, walking past him without stopping. “Go home to your wife’s empty house. You made your choice.”
---
