Chapter 6 - The Courtroom Checkmate
The divorce and civil battery trial took place eight months later.
By this time, my ribs had fully healed, leaving behind no physical scars, though the psychological ones had turned into an unbreakable armor. I sat at the plaintiff’s table in a tailored, emerald-green suit, my posture perfect, my eyes cold and unyielding.
Daniel sat across the aisle. He looked like a ghost of the man I had married. Without his high-paying job, he couldn't afford his expensive haircuts or designer suits. He was wearing an ill-fitting gray jacket, his face gaunt, his eyes darting nervously around the courtroom. He had been forced to move into a cheap, one-bedroom apartment in a bad part of town, and Vivian was sleeping on his couch.
His public defender stood up, trying to paint a picture of a mutual altercation. He claimed I was a gold-digger who had trapped Daniel, instigated the fight, and stolen his money out of spite.
“Your Honor,” Daniel’s lawyer argued, “my client is a victim of a calculated financial ambush. Ms. Vance seized assets, falsified the severity of her injuries, and destroyed his career in a fit of hysterical vengeance.”
Eleanor, my attorney, didn't even flinch. She slowly stood up, adjusting her glasses.
“Your Honor, opposing counsel’s narrative is certainly creative, but it lacks a fundamental element: reality.”
Eleanor walked over to the AV cart and plugged in a USB drive. A large screen descended from the ceiling of the courtroom.
“Three days before the assault,” Eleanor stated, her voice ringing clear in the silent room, “my client, suspecting her husband of stealing her money, installed a hidden nanny-cam in the dining room of her legally owned property. She hadn't reviewed the footage until weeks after the incident. But it captured the entirety of the dinner on the night of the assault.”
Daniel’s face instantly turned the color of ash. He half-stood from his chair before his lawyer yanked him back down.
Eleanor pressed play.
The courtroom watched in absolute silence as the high-definition video played. They heard Vivian mocking me. They heard me ask for my bank card back. And then, they saw it. Clear as day. Daniel drawing his hand back and striking me with such brutal, unprovoked force that the microphone picked up the sickening crack of my ribs breaking. They saw Vivian raise her wine glass and laugh while I writhed on the floor in agony.
The judge’s face turned scarlet with rage.
The video ended. The silence in the courtroom was deafening.
“I believe the footage speaks for itself, Your Honor,” Eleanor said quietly, returning to her seat.
The judge didn't even deliberate. He slammed his gavel down with terrifying force.
“Daniel Vance,” the judge growled, looking at my ex-husband with pure disgust, “I have presided over this court for twenty years, and the sheer arrogance and brutality displayed in that video is sickening. I am granting the divorce immediately. The plaintiff is awarded one hundred percent of the marital assets, as the defendant’s debt was accrued through infidelity and fraud.”
The judge leaned forward. “Furthermore, in the civil battery suit, I am ordering you to pay the plaintiff two million dollars in punitive damages. Since you do not have the funds, your future wages will be garnished at the maximum legal limit until the day you die.”
Daniel buried his face in his hands, openly weeping in the courtroom. Vivian, sitting in the gallery, let out a loud, pathetic wail.
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They had tried to bury me. But they didn't realize I was a seed.
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