Chapter 13 - The Court-Appointed Witness
The morning of the emergency custody hearing arrived with a cold, clear Pacific Northwest brilliance. The King County Family Courthouse was surrounded by a sea of news vans, satellite dishes, and reporters held at bay by police barricades.
Because Victoria’s legal team had demanded an immediate evaluation of the children's "communicative competency," the judge had appointed an independent pediatric psychologist—a stern, highly respected woman named Dr. Aris—to conduct a brief, thirty-minute interview with the triplets in the judge's private chambers before the formal hearing began.
I sat in the corridor outside the chambers with Julian and Marcus Holloway. My palms were sweating inside my navy suit pockets.
“What if they freeze?” I whispered to Julian, leaning my head against his shoulder. “What if Dr. Aris asks about Beatrice, and the old training kicks in? If they don't speak, Victoria’s lawyers will claim they are profoundly developmentally delayed.”
Julian took my hand, squeezing it firmly. “We didn't train them to perform for a test, Elena. We taught them that they have a choice. We have to trust them.”
The heavy mahogany door of the judge’s chambers opened, and Dr. Aris stepped out into the hallway. Her face was entirely unreadable as she looked at our legal team, then across the hall where Victoria Sterling and her three lawyers were waiting with smug, expectant expressions.
“Mr. Vance,” Dr. Aris said, her voice carrying clearly across the marble corridor. “The preliminary evaluation is complete. I have submitted my written findings to Judge Holloway for the immediate record.”
Victoria stood up, smoothing her Chanel jacket. “And the children, Doctor? I assume you found their verbal communication entirely non-existent, as my medical experts predicted?”
Dr. Aris looked at Victoria over the top of her reading glasses with a cold, clinical sharpness.
“Actually, Mrs. Sterling,” Dr. Aris replied, “I found your granddaughters to be exceptionally articulate, highly empathetic, and remarkably self-aware for six-year-old children experiencing grief.”
Victoria’s jaw dropped slightly. “Articulate? They are mute!”
“They spoke to me for twenty-five minutes continuously,” Dr. Aris said calmly. “In fact, when I asked the youngest, Lily, why she preferred using sign language during times of stress, she told me—and I quote—‘Sign language is for when my heart is too loud for my mouth, but my Dad and Elena always listen with their eyes.’ I have informed the judge that removing these children from their father's care would constitute a catastrophic psychological trauma.”
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Across the hall, Julian let out a long, shuddering breath, closing his eyes for a fraction of a second as a smile touched his lips. He looked at me, raising my knuckles to his mouth and pressing a kiss to my skin in front of the entire assembly of lawyers.
Victoria’s face turned the color of ash. She turned to her lead attorney, Mr. Henderson, hissing furiously under her breath as they filed into the main courtroom for the final slaughter.
