They spotted me sitting on a bench near the courtroom doors.
“You can still settle, Elena,” my father said as they approached, adjusting his silk tie with a smug grin. He smelled of scotch and mints. “We’re generous people. Give us eighty percent, keep the rest as a finder’s fee for… whatever caretaking you did. We’ll drop the fraud charges. Otherwise, we destroy you in there.”
“I’m good, thanks,” I said, not looking up from the floor.
Mr. Sterling stepped forward, looking me up and down with a sneer. “Ms. Vance, I understand you haven’t retained counsel. Pro se representation is ill-advised in a high-stakes probate case. I’m going to eat you alive in there. The judge isn’t going to have patience for an amateur.”
I looked at Sterling. I noticed his suit was expensive, but his briefcase was disorganized, papers sticking out of the side. I noticed the coffee stain on his cuff. Sloppy.
“I’ll take my chances,” I said softly.
My mother scoffed, linking her arm through my father’s. “She’s always been stubborn. And stupid. Let’s go, Robert. Let the judge humiliate her. Maybe then she’ll learn her place.”
“She doesn’t deserve a cent,” my father said loudly, ensuring the other people in the hallway heard him. “Unaware that in a court of law, ‘deserve’ is irrelevant. Only ‘prove’ matters.”
They walked past me into the courtroom, laughing.
I waited a beat, took a deep breath, and followed them in.
The courtroom was old, smelling of wood polish and history. Judge Halloway sat on the bench—a stern woman with gray hair and eyes that looked like they could cut glass.
“Calling case 4029, Vance vs. Vance,” the bailiff announced.
Mr. Sterling stood up with a flourish. “Ready for the Plaintiff, Your Honor.”
“Ready for the Defense,” I said, remaining seated.
Judge Halloway looked at me over her glasses. “Ms. Vance, you are representing yourself?”
“I am, Your Honor.”
“Are you sure? Mr. Sterling is a seasoned litigator. The court cannot give you legal advice.”
“I understand, Your Honor. I am prepared to proceed.”
My father leaned over to my mother and whispered, loud enough for me to hear, “Look at her. She’s got nothing. No binders, no paralegals. Just one folder. This will be over by lunch.”
“Opening statements,” Judge Halloway ordered.
