“Sit down, Mr. Sterling,” Judge Miller snapped, before turning back to me. “Major Hart, the petitioner has submitted affidavits from neighbors claiming they hear heavy machinery running at midnight, that you refuse entry to county tax assessors, and that you are allowing prime agricultural acreage to fall into disrepair. More critically, they submit that your psychological condition renders you incapable of handling high-value assets.”
“May I present petitioner Walter Hart for direct questioning, Your Honor?” I asked.
Sterling stood up. “Objection! This is an irregular circus designed to intimidate her elderly parents.”
“Overruled,” Miller said coldly. “Mr. Hart signed the petition. Take the stand, Mr. Hart.”
Walter stood up, smoothing his navy tie, casting a warm, sorrowful smile toward the gallery as if to apologize for his wayward daughter’s embarrassing spectacle. He walked up the wooden steps, took the oath with his right hand raised toward heaven, and settled into the witness chair.
“Walter,” I said, stepping out from behind my table and walking slowly toward the center of the well, “you state in paragraph four of your sworn petition that you have taken over operational debt on Arthur Vale’s farm to protect my mother’s interest. Is that correct?”
“That is correct, Leah,” Walter said, his voice dripping with gentle, paternal sadness. “I have carried this family’s financial burdens for thirty years because your grandfather grew frail and your mother has a weak heart.”
“And you believe I am mentally incompetent because of combat trauma?”
“It breaks my heart to say it in front of our neighbors,” Walter sighed, looking down at his clasped hands. “You were a sweet girl, Leah. But when you came home from overseas, you weren’t the same. You carry weapons in your truck. You don’t speak to people at church. You hoard cash in the barn. You’re dangerous to yourself. We just want to get you help.”
“Did you visit the farmhouse six days ago, Walter?”
Walter blinked, his smile tightening slightly. “I came to check on you, yes. Like a father does.”
“And did we discuss the farm?”
“We talked about Harold Vance’s development offer,” Walter said quickly, looking toward Judge Miller. “I told you that turning down four million dollars while the property taxes were delinquent was proof of financial self-sabotage.”
“And when I told you to leave my property, Walter, what did you do?”
“I left,” Walter replied smoothly, spreading his palms wide. “I saw how agitated you were, how your eyes got that dark, military look, and I walked away to de-escalate the situation.”
I stopped two feet from the witness box. I pointed directly to the dark, swollen contusion beneath my left eye.
“Then who gave me this bruise, Walter?”
Sterling leaped to his feet. “Objection! Relevance and badgering! Self-inflicted injuries or domestic disputes are not within the scope of this conservatorship hearing!”
“Answer the question, Mr. Hart,” Judge Miller instructed quietly, his eyes suddenly narrowing on Walter’s face.
Walter let out a heavy, patronizing breath. “Your Honor, I have no idea how she got that mark. Leah has violent nightmares. She probably fell out of bed or struck herself against a doorframe during one of her episodes. It’s exactly why she needs supervision.”
I didn’t blink. I reached into the left breast pocket of my dress uniform, pulled out a small black USB drive, and held it up between two fingers.
“Your Honor,” I said, “I move to enter Respondent’s Exhibit A into the record.”
