Chapter 6: The Witness Garrick Forgot He'd Wronged
Declan Foss was fifty-three years old, with a quiet manner and careful eyes.
He took the stand the following morning without drama, settled his hands in his lap, and answered every question Frances asked him in a voice that carried clearly to the back of the room.
He described his role in Sterling Capital Holdings.
He described the clients he had brought in, the contracts he had negotiated, the revenue he had generated.
He produced records — organized, dated, cross-referenced — that he had maintained for seven years in a fireproof box in his home office.
Garrick's attorney objected four times in the first ten minutes.
Judge Blackwood overruled each one.
When Frances finished, Mr.
Crane rose for cross-examination.
He straightened his jacket and approached the stand with the particular confidence of a man who believed he had a way through.
"Mr.
Foss.
You signed a non-disclosure agreement when you left Sterling Capital.
Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"And in that agreement, you agreed not to disclose proprietary business information.
Correct?"
"Yes."
"So everything you've just testified to — client names, revenue figures, internal communications — you've just violated a legally binding contract in open court."
Declan looked at him calmly.
"I disclosed those details in response to a subpoena issued by this court.
My attorney advised me that a court subpoena supersedes a private NDA."
Mr.
Crane paused.
Just briefly.
"Your attorney."
"Yes.
I retained counsel eight months ago when I was first contacted about this matter."
"And who contacted you?"
"Mrs.
Ashby's attorney.
Ms.
Vane."
Mr.
Crane turned toward the judge.
"Your Honor, this witness was solicited by opposing counsel—"
"To respond to a lawfully issued subpoena," Frances said from her seat.
"Which was filed with this court and served to opposing counsel thirty days ago."
Judge Blackwood looked at Mr.
Crane.
"Do you have a copy of the subpoena, counselor?"
A beat.
"Yes, Your Honor."
"Then move on."
Mr.
Crane turned back to Declan.
His voice shifted — quieter now, more deliberate.
"Mr.
Foss.
You received forty thousand dollars from Sterling Capital Holdings at the time of your departure.
You accepted that payment."
"I did."
"So you were compensated."
"I was paid forty thousand dollars for work that generated two million, one hundred and forty thousand dollars in documented revenue.
Yes.
I accepted it because my daughter needed surgery and I had no other immediate option." He didn't raise his voice.
"Mr.
Sterling was aware of that when he made the offer.
He told me so directly."
"That's your characterization—"
"I have the email." Declan reached into the folder on the stand beside him.
"He wrote, and I'm quoting: 'Given your current situation at home, I imagine this timeline works for you.' Sent the same day he presented the buyout." He set the page on the railing.
"I kept everything, Mr.
Crane.
I kept it all."
Garrick, at the table, had gone very still.
Cordelia, in the gallery, was no longer watching the stand.
She was looking at her son.
Her expression was not concern.
It was assessment.
Mr.
Crane returned to his table and leaned down to confer with Garrick.
Marlowe could not hear what was said.
But she watched Garrick's face as he listened, and she saw the moment he made a decision.
He shook his head.
Once.
Firmly.
Mr.
Crane straightened.
"No further questions, Your Honor."
Declan stepped down from the stand.
As he passed Marlowe's table, he did not look at her.
But he slowed for just a half-step — barely perceptible — and then continued to his seat.
It was enough.
Judge Blackwood called a short recess.
As the room shifted, Delphine leaned toward Cordelia in the gallery and said something.
Cordelia shook her head sharply and stood.
She walked toward the exit — not the main doors, but the side corridor.
Frances was already on her feet.
She handed a note to the court clerk and then moved toward Marlowe.
"She's going to make another call," Frances said quietly.
"But this time we're ready for it.
I have someone in that corridor."
Marlowe looked toward the side door.
"What is she trying to do?"
"I think she's trying to reach the one person who could still hurt you." Frances paused.
"Your brother."
Marlowe's hands went flat on the table.
"She found out he owes Garrick money," Frances said.
"A private loan.
May you like
Undocumented.
She's going to use it."
