Chapter 4: What Cordelia Did While No One Was Watching
The recess lasted twenty minutes.
Marlowe spent most of it at a small table in the hallway, a paper cup of water in front of her that she didn't touch.
Frances sat beside her, voice low.
"Cordelia made two calls.
Our investigator caught the number on the second one.
It belongs to a man named Aldous Frey.
He's a private attorney — not the family's regular firm.
He handles asset transfers."
Marlowe set down the cup.
"She's moving money."
"She's trying to.
The question is whether she already started before today."
"She did." Marlowe opened her bag and removed a folded sheet.
"I found a transfer record two days ago.
Forty thousand, moved from a joint account Garrick still had access to.
Into a holding company registered in Cordelia's maiden name."
Frances took the sheet, read it, and folded it back.
"You didn't tell me about this."
"I'm telling you now."
Frances looked at her for a moment.
"Marlowe.
Is there anything else you haven't told me?"
"One thing.
But not yet.
I need to see what Garrick does first."
They returned to the courtroom.
Garrick and his attorney were already seated.
Garrick's posture had changed — he sat forward now, elbows on the table, jaw set.
Whatever his attorney had told him during recess, he had made a decision.
Judge Blackwood called the room to order.
Mr.
Crane stood immediately.
"Your Honor, my client would like to make a statement directly to the court."
"He may do so through counsel."
"He's requested to speak himself, Your Honor."
A pause.
"Very well.
Mr.
Sterling."
Garrick rose.
He buttoned his jacket.
He looked at the judge, not at Marlowe.
"Your Honor, I want to be transparent.
My wife — my soon-to-be ex-wife — did contribute to the early days of the company.
I won't deny that.
But the nature of those contributions has been…
exaggerated.
She was a supportive spouse.
She attended meetings.
She helped with some correspondence.
That does not make her a co-founder."
"And the loan from her mother?" Judge Blackwood asked.
"A gift.
Given freely.
There was never any expectation of repayment."
"The notarized document specifies repayment terms."
"My mother-in-law was elderly.
She didn't always understand what she was signing."
The room shifted.
A sound — not quite a gasp, but close — moved through the gallery.
Marlowe's hand tightened around her pen.
Frances placed two fingers lightly on her wrist.
Don't.
Marlowe didn't move.
Mr.
Holt, still seated in the gallery, reached into his briefcase again.
He removed a second document and passed it to the clerk without being asked.
Judge Blackwood received it.
He read.
His expression did not change, but he took slightly longer than before.
"Mr.
Sterling.
This is a letter written by Mrs.
Ashby's mother fourteen months before her passing.
In it, she describes the loan in her own words, including the amount, the purpose, and her expectation of full repayment." He looked up.
"She also names you specifically as the person who asked her not to tell her daughter about it."
Garrick said nothing.
"She kept a copy," Marlowe said quietly.
Judge Blackwood looked at her.
"Mrs.
Ashby, please direct your comments through counsel."
"I apologize, Your Honor."
But the words were already in the room.
Garrick turned toward her, and for a moment something moved across his face that wasn't arrogance.
It was something older and uglier.
"You went through her things," he said.
Low.
Just for her.
"She left them for me to find," Marlowe said.
Same volume.
"Mr.
Sterling." The judge's voice cut between them.
"Sit down."
Garrick sat.
His attorney put a hand on his arm.
Garrick shrugged it off.
Delphine, in the gallery, had stopped watching the judge.
She was watching Garrick.
And her expression, for the first time, was not confidence.
It was calculation.
Court was adjourned until the following morning.
As Marlowe gathered her things, Frances leaned close.
"He's going to come at you tonight.
Through lawyers, through pressure, maybe through someone you trust.
Be ready."
Marlowe zipped her bag.
"I've been ready for eight months."
She walked out without looking back.
In the hallway, her phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
*You should have taken the settlement when he offered it.
This gets worse from here.*
She read it once.
Then she screenshotted it, forwarded it to Frances, and put her phone in her pocket.
She pushed through the courthouse doors into the afternoon light.
May you like
The message had come from somewhere.
And that somewhere was about to become evidence.
