Chapter 5 - The Blood in the Water
The Pitt County Courthouse in downtown Greenville was a heavy, Brutalist concrete structure that smelled of industrial floor stripper, damp wool, and centuries of human misery.
By 9:40 AM, the rain had stopped, replaced by a suffocating, gray coastal fog that clung to the asphalt.
We entered through the private attorney entrance on the third floor. Evelyn Marcus moved through the corridors like an icebreaker parting arctic floes. Court clerks and bailiffs nodded to her with a mixture of profound respect and genuine terror.
"Judge Sterling agreed to hold the ex parte petition in abeyance until 10:00 AM in his private chambers," Marcus said, checking her gold Cartier watch without breaking stride. "Derrick Vance and your wife are already inside. They think this is a routine rubber-stamp hearing. They have no idea we are in the building."
"Is Cole in there?" I asked, my voice low.
"Cole Barrett is not a party to the domestic petition," Marcus said. "He won't be in chambers. But according to my sources, his BMW is parked outside. He’ll be waiting in the corridor, looking like a concerned family friend offering moral support."
We rounded the corner near Courtroom 3B.
Sure enough, sitting on a wooden bench beneath a portrait of a former Chief Justice, was Cole Barrett.
He wore an Italian wool overcoat draped over the back of the bench, a custom-fitted navy suit, and hand-burnished leather loafers. He was casually scrolling through an iPad, his face relaxed, the picture of a man who believed he was an hour away from executing a multi-million-dollar land heist.
Then he looked up.
His eyes caught mine, and the casual, arrogant smirk on his face evaporated so violently it looked like he had been struck with an open hand.
The color drained from his cheeks. His jaw dropped slightly. He looked from me, standing tall in my dark charcoal suit, to Evelyn Marcus walking half a step ahead of me, her leather litigation briefcase swinging at her side.
Cole knew who Marcus was. Anyone doing commercial development or legal maneuvering in North Carolina knew her face.
He shot to his feet, knocking his briefcase against the bench. "Ethan?"
I didn't answer. I didn't even look him directly in the eyes. I followed Marcus’s instruction: *You are a ghost.* I looked right through him, as if he were a pane of dirty glass, and continued walking toward the heavy double doors of Judge Sterling’s private chambers.
"Ethan, wait!" Cole stepped forward, his voice cracking slightly, the polished Atlanta veneer peeling away in real-time. "What is this? What are you doing here?"
Ben stepped into his path. Ben was six-foot-two, two hundred and thirty pounds, with hands that had swung framing hammers for twenty years. He blocked Cole with the physical finality of a concrete retaining wall.
"Step back, Barrett," Ben said in a conversational, cheerful rumble. "Or I’ll give you a reason to file an actual police report."
Before Cole could recover, Marcus pushed through the doors to Judge Sterling’s chambers, and I followed her inside.
The room was lined with leather-bound legal volumes, smelling richly of cedar, pipe tobacco, and old paper. Behind a massive mahogany desk sat Judge Arthur Sterling, his wire-rimmed glasses resting low on a prominent nose, his gray hair neatly combed.
Standing before the desk was Derrick Vance, a slick, forty-year-old local attorney with an oily smile, and Laura.
Laura was dressed in a muted gray sweater that made her look fragile, small, and victimized. She held a crumpled tissue in her left hand, and her eyes were rimmed with red. She was playing the role of the shattered, terrified wife to absolute perfection.
Until she heard the door latch click.
She turned around, expecting perhaps an assistant clerk or a bailiff.
When her eyes landed on me, the tissue fell from her fingers.
"Ethan?" she whispered, her voice barely a squeak.
Her gaze shifted instantly to Evelyn Marcus. Laura took an involuntary step backward, bumping against the edge of the judge’s desk. Her eyes widened in absolute horror. She looked like someone who had walked into an empty alleyway expecting to meet an unarmed victim, only to find the entire squad of the state police waiting in the shadows.
"Judge Sterling," Evelyn Marcus announced, her voice ringing through the quiet room like a brass bell. "I apologize for the intrusion, but I understand Mr. Derrick Vance is currently presenting an ex parte affidavit alleging acute physical and psychological intimidation against my client, Ethan Vance."
Derrick Vance flushed crimson. "Your Honor! This is an ex parte proceeding! Opposing counsel has no standing to appear or interrupt this hearing before the temporary order is granted!"
Judge Sterling took off his glasses and set them deliberately on top of Laura’s sworn affidavit. His expression was utterly inscrutable.
"Under normal circumstances, Mr. Vance, you would be correct," Sterling said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone. "However, Ms. Marcus called my personal line twenty minutes ago and informed me that your client’s sworn petition contains representations that may rise to the level of criminal perjury and intentional fraud upon this court."
The air in the room instantly vanished.
Laura grabbed the edge of the mahogany desk, her knuckles turning white. "Perjury? Your Honor, I... I was terrified! He threatened me!"
"Did he, Mrs. Vance?" Evelyn Marcus stepped forward, clicking open her briefcase with two sharp, metallic snaps. She produced three pristine, spiral-bound dossiers and laid them on Judge Sterling’s desk.
"Your Honor," Marcus continued, her tone conversational, almost clinical. "We have provided the court with time-stamped video and audio recordings from four distinct angles of the Vance residence from last night. We have the localized digital telemetry confirming my client never approached within five feet of Mrs. Vance, never raised his voice, packed a bag, and departed the premises precisely fourteen minutes after she announced her infidelity."
Derrick Vance began to stammer. "Your Honor, a video doesn't capture the psychological coercion—"
"No," Marcus interrupted smoothly. "But Exhibit B does. Exhibit B is an errant text message sent by Mrs. Vance at 11:54 PM to her paramour, Cole Barrett, expressing extreme distress that my client *failed* to yell, *failed* to threaten her, and *failed* to provide the evidentiary basis required for this very filing."
Judge Sterling picked up the document. He read the transcript of the text message.
Then he looked over the top of his glasses directly at Laura.
The silence in that room was heavier than a tombstone. You could hear the grandfather clock ticking in the corner. You could hear Laura’s ragged, shallow breathing.
"Mrs. Vance," Judge Sterling said, his voice dropping into a register that made even Derrick Vance wince. "Did you send this message?"
Laura looked at me.
For twenty years, whenever she was in trouble, whenever a contractor tried to overcharge her, whenever her car broke down, whenever her sister caused drama, she had looked at me with those exact same eyes, wordlessly asking me to fix it.
She looked at me now, pleading, terrified, drowning.
I stared back at her with nothing. No hate. No pity. No warmth. Just absolute, impenetrable ice.
"I asked you a question, Mrs. Vance," the judge barked, slapping his open palm onto the desk. "Did you send this text message to Mr. Cole Barrett while preparing this affidavit?"
Laura’s knees buckled. She had to catch herself against the leather arm of a guest chair.
"I... I..." she choked out.
"Don't answer that, Laura!" Derrick Vance said frantically, holding up his hands. "Your Honor, my client is under extreme emotional distress. We wish to withdraw the petition without prejudice at this time."
"You aren't withdrawing a damn thing, Mr. Vance," Judge Sterling said, standing up to his full six-foot-three height. "Ms. Marcus, what else do you have?"
Marcus leaned in, her eyes locking onto Laura like a hawk sighting field mice. "Your Honor, we are filing an immediate verified counter-claim for intentional fraud, abuse of judicial process, and under North Carolina General Statutes, a multi-million-dollar complaint for Alienation of Affection and Criminal Conversation against Cole Barrett. Furthermore, we are requesting an immediate emergency freeze on all corporate assets and property transfers involving the Tar River Development Trust, pending a forensic investigation into attempted commercial extortion."
Laura let out a strangled, pathetic sob. "Ethan... please... Cole told me this was the only way... he told me we were going broke..."
Judge Sterling didn't even look at her tears.
May you like
"Petition for protective order is denied with prejudice," the judge slammed his gavel down onto the brass striking block. "Derrick Vance, you have one hour to produce every communication between your office and Mr. Cole Barrett, or I am referring your license to the North Carolina State Bar for subornation of perjury. Clear my chambers."
***
