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The courtroom was clean but clearly old. The linoleum on the floor was circa 1980, the acoustic tiles on the ceiling reminded Erica of her high school. She received the same sensation here of looming authority.
Erica thought Liam caught the same vibe. He was breathing a little fast, and his eyes were wide. Everyone had repeatedly told him this was going to be a slam dunk, but Erica could not blame him for his nerves. The place reeked of bureaucratic power even without the judge yet before them.
Clint appeared oblivious to the atmosphere, lounging casually on the other side of Liam in the metal chair behind their table at the front of the room.
Erica glanced toward the clock—still early—and smoothed a nervous hand down the front of her beige pantsuit. Her hand froze as she heard the door at the back breathe open.
Brennan had arrived. She didn't have to glance in that direction to know this. The nerves in her back constricted.
She had not been able to forget that strange moment in the front hall last Sunday when he'd looked at her with apparent yearning. In retrospect, she supposed he'd only wanted to continue talking about Liam. Maybe there'd been a confidence given he hadn't wanted to break. Yeah, whatever Brennan had refrained from telling her had probably been something like that.
Probably...but she was unable to completely convince herself of this theory.
"Hey." Clint roused from his lethargy to stand and smile. "Brennan, my man. I'm glad you could make it."
Brennan was wearing a blue suit the near side of black. His hair was newly clipped, and Erica would've bet money his tie cost over a hundred bucks. He smiled easily at Clint. "Anything I can do to help." He set a hand on Liam's shoulder, and the teenager shot him a grateful look.
Briefly, Brennan's gaze shifted to her. "Erica."
"Brennan." It was a sad fact that her heart rate increased as their eyes briefly met. She did her best to disguise any reaction she had to his presence, however, returning the nod he gave her with what she hoped was a similarly casual expression.
Was it remotely possible that he was having to make a similar effort to look unaffected?
A man dressed in uniform stepped out of a door near the front. "Please rise," he intoned.
Erica hastened to her feet. Her stomach couldn't help constricting with her old childhood fear of authority, a fear born from her run-ins with an unpredictable father.
A small woman dressed in long black robes strode out the door the bailiff had opened. She looked to be in her sixties but moved like a much younger woman as she went to take a seat at the high podium at the front of the room. The nameplate on the podium announced she was Judge R. Devon.
The stricture in Erica's stomach tightened. The judge reminded her powerfully of her eleventh grade English teacher. They both had the same sour expression that seemed to complain, 'you didn't do as I asked.'
"You may be seated." The judge's voice matched her face. She shuffled among some papers in front of her.
Sinking to a seat, Erica could not relax the tight ball of her stomach.
"Which one of you is Erica Carmichael?" Judge Devon asked, ridiculously, Erica thought. She was the only woman sitting at the front table.
But her heart pounded as she tentatively raised one hand. "Ahem. I am."
"I see." The judge looked down through her half glasses at Erica. "And Liam?"
Liam's face was pale. "Here, ma'am. I mean, your honor."
The judge gave him a penetrating look.
In the remnant of her brain not taken over by old, irrational fears, Erica found Judge Devon's attitude hardly befit a family court and a boy who'd recently lost his father.
"You've written, Liam, that you would like your sister, Erica Carmichael, to become your guardian now that your father has died. Have I stated your opinion correctly?"
Liam was trembling. "Uh...Yes, your honor."
The judge folded her hands on her desk. "In this case, that means your sister would have control of your father's money—your money now in trust. So, tell me, Liam, how well do you know your sister, Erica?"
"Uh..." Liam frowned, obviously confused.
Judge Devon leaned over her hands. "How often have you seen your sister over the past year?"
"Oh. Well, she came to live with us—that is, with me—um, in February."
"That was right after your father died. Now, before then, how often had you seen her?"
Liam was silent a longish moment. "I—I—"
"You did not see her at all, did you?"
"I— There was Facebook—"
"In fact, you have not seen your sister very much since you were born, have you?"
Liam's pale face was now red. Erica started to feel angry. Why was the judge badgering him when the person she obviously had a problem with was Erica?
"Your honor—" Erica began.
"You'll get your turn." Judge Devon shot Erica a killing glance, looking even more like the eleventh grade English teacher. Then she turned back to Liam. "Liam, why have you stated that you want to live with your sister and let her act as conservator for your money?"
Liam was still red in the face, now clearly angered beyond his earlier fluster. "Because I do. Erica's been great. She moved to Palmwood for me, gave up her business—"
"Yes, yes," Judge Devon interrupted with a small smile. "We'll get to that. Now, Clint Carmichael."
By now Clint had obviously got the same picture of this woman that everybody else in the room was receiving. He answered with an enviable mix of respect and determination, "Yes, your honor."
"Mr. Carmichael, you live in the area, you're in your father's will as guardian, and you have a longstanding relationship with your younger brother. Yet you are not, in fact, taking over his guardianship. Why is that?"
Clint hesitated. "Erica, Liam, and I all spoke about this, discussing our relative situations—"
"Answer the question, Mr. Carmichael."
Clint looked taken aback, but he kept his characteristic cool. He even smiled reassuringly. "This is the thing: I'm going through a divorce. A rough one. So, we all thought it would be better to keep Liam out of it."
The judge smiled back at him but not in a nice way. She'd clearly got whatever she was looking for. "Of course. Now, Ms. Carmichael." She drew the name out while turning to Erica.
"Yes, your honor."
"What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a physical trainer."
"A physical trainer. And what kind of income does a physical trainer make?"
Erica could feel her face warm. "I can support myself."
The judge's lips twitched into an unpleasant smile. "Where are you living now, Ms. Carmichael?"
The heat in Erica's face increased. "I'm living in our family home, where Liam lives."
Judge Devon feigned surprise. "That's right. Liam said you'd moved to Palmwood. But physical training is, well, physical, isn't it? How are you doing this job if you aren't physically with the clients you left behind?"
They were now in territory where the judge had some justification for her disapproval. Erica refrained from clearing her throat. "I'm setting up my business here in Palmwood and plan to find new clients here."
"Um-hm, and do you have any?"
"Excuse me?"
"Do you have any new clients?"
Erica had exactly one. The woman she'd met on Monday had been thrilled with Erica's work, but she was still only one client. Erica's throat moved, but she had nothing to say. One damn client.
"That's what I thought." The judge's fake smile sobered. "I have to confess, I don't like the way this looks, Ms. Carmichael. You might be for real, but how do I know? After years of absence, you're mighty quick to move into your minor brother's house as soon as there's money to be had. Meanwhile, you have no visible means of support."
Dread added weight to the rock that was Erica's stomach. Not only was she a career failure, but now she was going to screw up Liam's access to their father's pension
. Oh, jeez, was this going to affect the actual guardianship, too? "If you're not satisfied with my credentials, then let my brother Clint be conservator—"
The judge waved her words down. "He's even less trustworthy than you are. Messy divorces are costly."
Erica could hear Clint draw in a hard breath. She couldn't believe this was happening. The hearing was supposed to be a slam-dunk. Instead, her business inadequacy, of all things, was putting Liam's future at risk.
And Brennan was witness to the whole thing. Somehow, that made it even worse.
Sighing, the judge folded her hands on her desk again. "On the other hand, you're all family. God knows, that's supposed to count for something. So this is what I'm going to do. I'm giving you four weeks, Ms. Carmichael. Four weeks to prove to me that you have some means of supporting yourself and thus no reason to plunder your brother's estate. The clerk will set a hearing, and I will see you then." She picked up her gavel and tapped it. "Case put over for four weeks."
And that was that. The piece of cake had crumbled in their hands. To Erica's side, Liam sat very stiffly. He was obviously terrified. It wasn't clear how the judge's ruling on the conservatorship of the estate affected his actual guardianship. Seated beyond Liam, Clint was clearly furious.
Brennan, of course, presented his very best version of a rock.
Erica was aware that no judge on earth would have presumed to decree Brennan unfit to handle money put in trust for a sibling. He was a success.
While she'd been deemed exactly what she knew herself to be: inadequate, suspect. The anger heating her face was directed toward herself. After four weeks of supposedly 'getting her business off the ground' she had all of one client?
She almost didn't blame the judge for her decision.