glaring through reading glasses that teetered near the end of his nose.
Judge Kramer was a tough draw for this motion. He knew the law, but his patience had diminished the longer he sat on the bench. He often took shortcuts in his rulings.
Jared hoped that might work for them today. The law was against Phil Olney on this motion. Their chance of success hung by the thin thread of fairness—which didn’t always equate with the law. That and whatever advantage Jared could create for his client in the next few minutes.
The judge looked up and cleared his throat.
“Gentlemen, I have read your briefs.” His voice resonated with command. “This is a motion for an injunction. The plaintiff, Philip Olney, seeks to freeze Russell Olney’s bank accounts pending an audit of the brothers’ joint business. Does that about sum it up, Mr. Neaton?”
Jared rose and responded that it did.
“Proceed with your argument.”
He stepped to the podium, giving a quick thought to how cold the law could be. In his hand was a fistful of proof that Russell Olney had stolen a six-figure sum from his brother. Yet Russell’s lawyer, now watching Jared prepare to argue, would almost certainly defeat the motion today: the law was on his side.
Jared acknowledged in his opening words that an early order to freeze a party’s bank accounts was unusual. There was no point in denying it: precedent disfavored a court prejudging a case by issuing a TRO when the victim could get a judgment to recover their lost money after a trial. Though Jared did not say it, this meant that Judge Kramer should rule for Russell Olney, deny the motion, and set the case on for trial.
But Jared and his opponent understood another truth: this case would never see a trial. If Phil lost this round, he didn’t have the money to pursue it further. In the less likely event that Phil won and the judge froze Russell’s bank accounts, the opposite was true—Russell would be forced to settle or starve. Today was Phil and his brother’s only “day in court.”
“However, while it may be unusual to freeze bank assets at the start of a case,” he continued, shifting his pace, “it is not unprecedented in the right circumstances. And in this case that ruling is essential. Because Russell Olney is a thief. Not an ordinary one. Russell Olney is a thief of unusual talent, ambition, and ruthlessness.”
“Your honor,” Desmond spoke out in a deep timbre, rising slowly to his feet behind Jared’s shoulder. Jared did not turn or acknowledge him, but continued to speak.
“A thief willing to steal from his own brother, his sister-in-law, his young nephews—”
“Your Honor?”
“A man,” Jared called, brandishing an affidavit in his hand, “so cold and calculating that he was depositing stolen proceeds from the business in his secret account on the way to his own sister-in-law’s birthday party—”
“ I object!”
Oh, sweet music, Jared thought, watching the rising tide of red in Judge Kramer’s scowling face. Desmond should have done his homework.
Some judges abhorred a fight in the courtroom. They expected cordiality above all else in their domain and would punish the unwary aggressor. Judge Kramer, a former Golden Gloves champion thirty years ago, wasn’t one of them. Jared kept his face expressionless, noting the crooked profile of the judge’s nose. In his courtroom, a fight was fine. What Judge Kramer abhorred was pomposity and grandstanding.
“My client is not a thief,” Desmond went on, ignoring the storm cloud of the judge’s face. “This man”—a finger jabbed toward Phil—“this ungrateful brother would attack his own sibling with scurrilous accusations without a shred of evidence to support them! I ask for a ruling upon my objection!” he concluded, arms thrown wide.
Jared stood mute, barely able to mask his thrill of pleasure.
The judge’s red face looked near to exploding. “Mr. Desmond. Is there a jury here that is visible only to you?” Jared saw the court reporter suppress a snort. “At this moment, Mr. Neaton is not presenting evidence. He is making an argument. Do you know what an argument is?”
Russell’s face went as dead white as the judge’s was red.
“Well, Mr. Desmond, you can’t ‘object’ to an argument. Sit down.”
Desmond sat as the judge turned to Jared and proclaimed, in a softened tone, “Mr. Neaton, you may continue.”
Jared nodded and continued with a litany of Russell’s repeated, after-hours transfers of money—juxtaposing the transfer dates against the backdrop of family birthdays, business milestones, and even a Christmas Eve. Someone willing to steal