Judge Henderson’s eyes darted to Keith like a hawk spotting prey. “Is there something amusing, Mr. Simmons?”Garrison Ford stood up immediately, placing a restraining hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Apologies, Your Honor. My client is simply frustrated. This process has been unnecessarily prolonged, and the emotional strain is significant.”
“Keep your client’s frustration silent, Mr. Ford,” the judge warned, his tone sharp enough to cut. He turned back to me, and I saw something in his expression—not sympathy exactly, but perhaps a flicker of annoyance at the waste of his time. “Mrs. Simmons, court began five minutes ago. You know the rules. If your attorney is not present within a reasonable timeframe…”
“She’s coming,” I insisted, my voice gaining a fraction more strength. She promised. She swore. “There was traffic. The Cross Bronx Expressway—”“Traffic?” Keith muttered, leaning forward so his voice carried across the aisle like a poison dart. “Or maybe the check bounced, Grace. Oh, wait. You can’t write a check. I canceled the cards this morning. All of them. Even the one you use at that pathetic coffee shop where you pretend to be an artist.”
“Mr. Simmons!” The judge banged his gavel once, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot. “One more outburst and I will hold you in contempt. Do I make myself clear?”
“My apologies, Your Honor,” Keith said, standing up and buttoning his jacket with exaggerated humility. But his eyes never left me, and I saw the satisfaction there—the joy of a bully who’d found the perfect victim. “I just… I want to be fair here. My wife is clearly confused. She doesn’t understand the complexity of the law. She has no income, no resources. I offered her a generous settlement last week—fifty thousand dollars and the 2018 Lexus. She refused.”He turned to look at me directly, his eyes cold and dead like a shark’s. “I tried to help you, Grace. But you insisted on playing games. Now look at you. Sitting there with nothing. You don’t have a lawyer because nobody wants a charity case.”
