Chapter 8 - The Emergency Protective Order
Three days later, the courtroom at the Newport County Family Court was packed with reporters, military observers, and curious locals. Despite the military hold placed on him by NCIS, Julian had been transported to the civilian courthouse under armed guard for the formal hearing on my Emergency Protective Order and temporary custody arrangements.
I sat at the petitioner’s table between my father and my newly hired family law attorney, Sarah Jenkins—a courtroom bulldog known for dismantling abusive spouses. I wore a tailored navy dress that clearly showed my seven-month baby bump, my posture straight and composed despite the throbbing ache in my ribs.
Across the aisle, Julian sat between two high-priced defense attorneys his mother had hired before her bank accounts were officially frozen. He had been allowed to wear his Navy Service Dress Blue uniform, his chest gleaming with ribbons and medals—a calculated visual theater designed to manipulate the civilian judge into seeing him as an honorable patriot rather than a domestic abuser.
“All rise for the Honorable Judge Patricia Vance-Hicks,” the bailiff called out as the judge took the bench. She was a no-nonsense woman with sharp silver hair and thirty years of experience on the family court bench.
Julian’s lead counsel, a slick attorney named Mr. Bradley, wasted no time launching his attack. “Your Honor, we move for an immediate dismissal of the protective order and request shared temporary custody of the unborn child upon birth,” Bradley began, his voice booming across the courtroom. “My client is a decorated, active-duty naval officer with an unblemished fifteen-year service record. The petitioner’s allegations are nothing more than the tragic byproduct of documented prenatal psychiatric instability.”
Bradley held up a stack of papers. “We have sworn affidavits from the petitioner’s former midwife and several neighbors confirming that Mrs. Vance has suffered from severe paranoia, hallucinations, and emotional outbursts for six months. She tripped on a staircase during a hysterical episode, and now she is attempting to ruin a war hero’s life out of sheer delusion!”
Judge Hicks looked over her glasses at Sarah Jenkins. “Ms. Jenkins, your response?”
Sarah stood up calmly, buttoning her jacket. “Your Honor, Mr. Bradley is correct about one thing: my client’s previous midwife did document reports of instability. However, those reports were dictated entirely by Lieutenant Commander Vance, who forcibly isolated his wife and monitored her every medical interaction.”
Sarah turned toward the gallery, pointing at the military escorts standing by the door. “Furthermore, the defense’s 'war hero' narrative is currently under active investigation by the Naval Criminal Investigative Service for felony domestic assault, wire fraud, and conduct unbecoming an officer. But we don’t need to rely on military investigations today, Your Honor. We have the house itself as our witness.”
Sarah picked up a small thumb drive from our table and held it aloft. “We request permission to enter Exhibit A into evidence: seventy-two hours of timestamped, high-definition audiovisual recording taken from the Vance-Archer Estate surveillance system, authorized by the sole property owner, Elena Vance.”
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Julian’s attorney jumped to his feet, shouting an objection about marital privacy, but Judge Hicks slammed her gavel down with a sound like a gunshot.
“Objection overruled,” Judge Hicks snapped, leaning forward with sudden, intense interest. “If there is video evidence of what transpired in that house, I am going to see it right now. Bailiff, dim the lights and start the playback.”
