Chapter 8 - The Ghost of the Past
The implication hung in the air like heavy smoke. Judge Harrison Vance, the supposedly neutral, strict family court judge presiding over our emergency hearing, was somehow connected to the witness on my original marriage certificate.
"Is it a coincidence?" I asked, my head spinning. "Maybe it’s a different Vance."
"There are no coincidences in the Reynolds family," David said grimly. He immediately pulled up a secure legal directory, researching Judge Vance's personal background. Within minutes, he found a public obituary from 2018.
"Veronica Vance," David read aloud. "Sister of Judge Harrison Vance. She passed away eight years ago. She lived in Las Vegas in 2017 and worked as a notary public and clerk at the Silver Bells Chapel."
"So Judge Vance's sister witnessed my marriage to Marcus," I said, trying to connect the dots. "What does that mean? Did Marcus know her?"
"Look at the dates, Kesha," David said, pointing to the financial ledger from the flash drive. "The year you and Marcus got married, a major real estate development project owned by the Reynolds Corporation in Las Vegas was facing a massive environmental lawsuit. The presiding judge who dismissed that lawsuit, saving the Reynolds family thirty million dollars? Judge Harrison Vance."
"Oh my god," Ashley whispered. "Patricia didn't just stumble into Judge Vance’s courtroom this morning. She steered the case there. Or... he’s been in her pocket for a decade."
"If Judge Vance’s sister was the clerk who processed your marriage, and Marcus intentionally hidden that marriage later," David said, "it means the Reynolds family had leverage over Judge Vance. They knew his sister had engaged in some sort of irregular or potentially fraudulent notary work for them. If a judge has a conflict of interest this profound, every ruling he made this morning—including keeping the freeze in place—could be thrown out on appeal by Vanguard & Associates because of a mistrial declaration."
"Patricia wanted the freeze sustained today," I realized, the terrifying brilliance of the strategy hitting me. "She wanted us to think we won this morning. She let Judge Vance rule against her so we would feel secure, giving her time to move her assets physically and file for a massive mistrial on Thursday, wiping out the entire case and giving her a clean slate with a new, friendly judge."
"Exactly," David said, his face pale. "She played us. She played the court."
The office phone rang again. The unknown number.
I picked it up instantly. "Who are you? Tell me the truth right now!"
A long sigh came through the line. The voice-changer was turned off this time. It was a woman's voice—smooth, older, and deeply exhausted.
"If you want to stop Patricia from executing the mistrial on Thursday morning, Kesha, you need to meet me," the woman said. "I am the one who gave you the keys. I am the one who watched Marcus destroy you, and I am the one who helped him do it."
"Where?" I demanded.
"The old train station on 4th Street," she said. "Come alone. If you bring the police, Patricia will know, and she will activate the destruction protocol for the Swiss facility records."
The line went dead.
I looked at David and Ashley. "I have to go."
May you like
"I'm coming with you," Ashley said fiercely. "This involves my daughter."
"David, stay here with the kids," I said, looking at him with absolute resolve. "Keep analyzing that data. Find the exact proof of the tax fraud. If anything happens to us at that station, you take that drive straight to the FBI."
