Chapter 2
Michael’s face lost all its color.
His attorney leaned toward him and whispered something urgently.
Michael didn’t answer.
He was staring at the phone in the judge’s hand like it was a loaded weapon.
My stomach tightened.
I had spent six months being called paranoid.
Controlling.
Vindictive.
Michael had told everyone that our divorce had made me bitter.
He said I was trying to turn Ethan against him.
Even my own sister had once asked me whether I was “sure” I wasn’t letting my anger affect my judgment.
Now the entire courtroom was watching Michael panic over a phone he claimed was harmless.
Judge Reynolds looked at the bailiff.
“Please escort Ethan to chambers with the child advocate.”
Michael stood again.
“No.”
The judge’s eyes hardened.
“Excuse me?”
“I said no. He’s my son.”
“He is also a minor witness in a custody proceeding. Sit down.”
Michael looked at Ethan.
For one terrible second, I saw the same expression I had seen countless times during our marriage.
The expression he used when he wanted someone to understand that there would be consequences later.
Ethan saw it too.
His shoulders curled inward.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Stop looking at him like that.”
My voice came out louder than I intended.
Michael finally turned toward me.
“There she is,” he said bitterly. “The real Sarah.”
My attorney, Dana, touched my arm.
“Don’t engage.”
But Michael wasn’t finished.
“You coached him.”
I stared at him.
“I didn’t even know that phone existed.”
“You expect anyone to believe that?”
Judge Reynolds struck her gavel.
“Mr. Carter.”
Michael ignored her.
“You’ve been poisoning him against me since the day you filed.”
“I filed because you put your fist through a kitchen cabinet while Ethan was standing five feet away.”
His attorney shot to his feet.
“Objection!”
“This is not testimony time,” Judge Reynolds snapped. “Both parties will remain silent unless addressed by the court.”
Ethan began walking toward the side door with the child advocate.
As he passed me, his eyes met mine.
“Mom?”
I wanted to hug him.
I wanted to tell him everything would be okay.
But I couldn’t promise something I didn’t know.
So I said the only thing I could.
“I’m right here.”
He nodded.
Then he disappeared through the door.
The courtroom suddenly felt colder.
Judge Reynolds handed the phone to the clerk.
“I want the device preserved exactly as it is.”
Michael’s attorney, Mr. Blake, cleared his throat.
“Your Honor, we have serious concerns regarding the admissibility of any information on that device.”
“I’m not ruling on admissibility at this moment.”
“The device belongs to my client.”
“Your client gave it to an eleven-year-old child.”
“For emergency communication.”
The judge glanced at the screen.
“Is that what you call this?”
Michael’s jaw tightened.
I looked at Dana.
“What did she see?”
“I don’t know.”
My heart pounded.
Judge Reynolds turned back to Michael.
“Did you send your son instructions about what to say in this courtroom?”
“No.”
His answer came too fast.
She lifted the phone.
“Would you like to reconsider?”
Michael looked at his lawyer.
Mr. Blake whispered, “Do not answer anything else.”
Judge Reynolds nodded slowly.
“That may be wise.”
For the first time, fear replaced Michael’s anger.
Real fear.
The judge called a recess.
Dana pulled me into the hallway.
I could barely breathe.
“What happens now?”
“We wait.”
“For what?”
“For the judge to determine how bad this is.”
I stared at her.
“You think it’s bad?”
“Sarah, his attorney looked like he wanted to crawl under the table.”
I turned toward the courtroom doors.
“What could Michael have sent Ethan?”
Dana didn’t answer immediately.
“That’s what worries me.”
Ten minutes later, the child advocate came into the hallway alone.
Her name was Linda Matthews.
She had interviewed Ethan twice before.
Each time, he had been careful.
Too careful.
He always said his father loved him.
He always said things were “fine.”
When Linda asked whether he was afraid of Michael, Ethan said no while picking at the skin around his fingernails until they bled.
Now Linda’s expression was different.
“Sarah, may I speak with you?”
My knees nearly gave out.
“Is Ethan okay?”
“He’s upset, but he’s safe.”
“What did Michael do?”
Linda lowered her voice.
“The phone contains messages going back several months.”
Several months.
I felt sick.
“He’s had it that long?”
“It appears so.”
I shook my head.
Michael had bought Ethan a secret phone.
A phone my son had been hiding from me.
“What do the messages say?”
“I can’t disclose everything yet.”
“Linda, please.”
She hesitated.
Then she said, “Some messages appear to instruct Ethan on what information to keep from you.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“And?”
“There are messages telling him what to say to his therapist.”
My eyes opened.
“What?”
“And messages telling him what to say to me.”
The hallway seemed to tilt.
Michael had been coaching Ethan through every interview.
Every therapy session.
Every meeting.
That explained everything.
The strange wording.
The rehearsed answers.
The way Ethan always glanced toward doors before speaking.
Dana stepped closer.
“What else?”
Linda’s expression tightened.
“There are references to money.”
“What money?”
“I’m not certain yet.”
I immediately thought of Michael’s company.
The business we had built together before the divorce.
He had insisted its value had collapsed.
He claimed he could barely afford child support.
Yet he had bought a new truck three months after moving out.
“What kind of references?”
Linda glanced toward the courtroom.
“Messages telling Ethan never to mention the boxes in the garage.”
My blood went cold.
“The boxes?”
Dana looked at me.
“You know what she means?”
I did.
At least, I thought I did.
Two months before Michael and I separated, I had found three locked storage cases in our garage.
When I asked about them, Michael said they contained old company records.
He became furious when I tried to move one.
The next morning, all three were gone.
I had forgotten about them.
Until now.
Before I could speak, the courtroom door opened.
The bailiff stepped out.
“Ms. Carter?”
I turned.
“The judge wants everyone back inside.”
Michael entered from the opposite hallway.
His attorney was speaking rapidly into his ear.
Michael looked directly at me.
And smiled.
That frightened me more than his anger.
We took our seats.
Ethan was not brought back in.
Judge Reynolds entered.
Everyone rose.
She sat and looked down at the documents before her.
“I have reviewed a preliminary selection of messages contained on the device.”
Michael’s attorney stood.
“Your Honor, before—”
“Sit down, Mr. Blake.”
He did.
The judge continued.
“The messages raise serious concerns regarding witness coaching, emotional coercion of a minor, and potential interference with this court’s custody evaluation.”
My hand flew to my mouth.
Michael stared straight ahead.
“Pending further investigation, Mr. Carter’s unsupervised parenting time is suspended effective immediately.”
Michael exploded.
“You can’t do that!”
The bailiff stepped toward him.
Judge Reynolds didn’t flinch.
“I just did.”
“This is insane!”
“Mr. Carter, control yourself.”
“My son needs me!”
The judge’s voice became quiet.
“Then perhaps you should have considered that before telling him his mother would go to jail if he gave the wrong answers.”
My blood froze.
I looked at Michael.
He looked away.
Ethan had believed I could go to jail.
That was why he had been so terrified.
Judge Reynolds continued.
“There is more.”
Dana grabbed my hand under the table.
The judge looked directly at me.
“Ms. Carter, are you aware of any bank account held in your son’s name?”
I blinked.
“No.”
Michael’s head snapped toward me.
Judge Reynolds noticed.
“Mr. Carter?”
His attorney whispered something.
Michael remained silent.
The judge pushed a printed screenshot forward.
“One of the messages from Mr. Carter to Ethan reads, ‘If Mom ever asks about the account, you say Grandma opened it for your birthday. Understand?’”
I felt like I had been punched.
“What account?”
The judge looked at Michael.
“That is exactly what this court intends to find out.”
Then the courtroom doors opened.
A deputy entered and walked directly toward the judge.
He handed her a folded document.
She read it.
Her face changed again.
Michael leaned toward his attorney.
“What is that?”
Judge Reynolds looked at him.
“Mr. Carter, it appears investigators would like to speak with you regarding financial records connected to this matter.”
Michael stood.
“No.”
The deputy moved beside him.
Michael looked at me.
This time, the smile was gone.
“What did you do?”
I stared back at him.
“Nothing.”
He pointed at me.
“You planned this.”
The deputy caught his arm.
“Sir, keep your hands down.”
Michael twisted away.
“You think you won?”
I didn’t answer.
His face darkened.
“You have no idea what you just started.”
The deputy led him toward the side door.
Michael looked over his shoulder one last time.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
“Ask your sister where the money came from.”
May you like
And suddenly, for the first time all day, I wasn’t thinking about Michael.
I was thinking about my sister.
