Chapter 2 - The Summoning
The morning sun washed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Room 408, casting a warm, deceptive golden light across the sterile linoleum. I sat propped up against the pillows, my laptop resting securely across my lap. The screen displayed an encrypted interface connected directly to the federal courthouse downtown.
While Andrew had spent a miserable night sleeping upright in the uncomfortable visitor’s armchair—too cowardly to leave, too ashamed to look me in the eye—I had been working.
By 7:00 AM, my chief clerk, Marcus Vance, had received an encrypted priority brief detailing a very specific, highly confidential family law emergency involving an attempted coercion and extortion scheme targeting a member of the federal judiciary’s immediate household.
At 8:30 AM, my security detail—two armed U.S. Marshals who usually guarded my courtroom during high-stakes racketeering trials—quietly took up positions outside my hospital suite.
At 9:00 AM, the heavy oak door opened, and a tall, impeccably dressed woman in a charcoal Chanel suit stepped into the room. It was Sarah Jenkins, senior partner at Jenkins & Sterling, and arguably the most formidable matrimonial and constitutional litigator in the state of North Carolina. She also happened to be one of my closest friends from our days at Duke Law School, long before I took the bench.
Sarah took one look at Andrew slumped in the corner, looked at me sitting calmly with a newborn sleeping in a bassinet beside my bed, and raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
“Well,” Sarah said, closing the door softly behind her. “When you called me at midnight and said you needed a shark, Katherine, I assumed it was a complex corporate conspiracy. I didn't realize you were hunting backyard minnows.”
Andrew scrambled out of the chair, looking horrified at Sarah’s expensive suit and the official leather briefcase she carried. “Wait—Sarah Jenkins? You hired Jenkins? Katherine, do you have any idea what her billable rate is? We can’t afford her! My firm doesn't even retain her for corporate restructuring!”
I didn't even look up from my screen. “Your firm couldn't afford her retainer for a weekend brunch, Andrew. Fortunately, Sarah’s services are being retained under a completely different fee structure—one that involves a lifelong debt of gratitude and my judicial discount.”
Sarah walked over to the side of the bed, leaning down to kiss my cheek before turning her sharp, calculating gaze toward Andrew.
“Mr. Ellis,” Sarah said smoothly, her voice carrying the chilling polish of a courtroom veteran. “Or should I say, the soon-to-be former Mr. Ellis. I’ve reviewed the preliminary evidence your lovely mother generated yesterday afternoon. Specifically, the handwritten, unverified, legally laughable parental-surrender agreement she pressured your wife to sign three hours post-op.”
Andrew swallowed hard, sweating through his shirt. “My mother acted on her own! I didn't know anything about those papers! It was a misunderstanding—family pressure—Natalie has been struggling—.”
“Your mother committed attempted coercion, emotional abuse of a medical patient, and potentially interstate interference if she mailed those documents through a commercial service,” Sarah interrupted, her tone dropping into clinical ice. “Furthermore, she attempted to extort a federal judicial officer.”
Andrew froze. He blinked once. Twice. He slowly turned his head away from Sarah and looked down at me, his eyes wide with sudden, sickening realization.
“A... a federal what?” Andrew whispered, his voice trembling.
I finally closed my laptop, setting it gently on the bedside table. I looked at my husband of three years—a man who thought he knew every detail of my life because he occasionally watched me type briefs from our living room couch.
“You never wondered, Andrew, why my security clearance checks took six months before our wedding?” I asked quietly. “You never wondered why I traveled to Washington twice a year for closed-door committee meetings? You never wondered why federal law enforcement personnel occasionally dropped off secure mail at our front porch and addressed me as ‘Your Honor’ when you were out of the room?”
Andrew staggered backward, his hip hitting the visitor’s chair. “You... you’re a judge? A local judge? Municipal court?”
“United States District Judge for the Western District of North Carolina,” Sarah supplied helpfully, flashing a brilliant, predatory smile. “Appointed by the President, confirmed by the Senate, lifetime tenure, and currently presiding over some of the most dangerous organized crime and white-collar syndicates on the East Coast. In short, Andrew, your mother tried to bully, threaten, and extort a woman who routinely puts cartel bosses and corrupt politicians behind bars for thirty years without parole.”
Andrew sank heavily into the chair, burying his face in his hands as the full, crushing weight of his family’s stupidity—and his own spineless cowardice—crashed down upon him.
“She... she thought you were unemployed,” Andrew choked out, his shoulders shaking. “Mother always said you were just... coasting on my paycheck. She said you lacked ambition.”
“Your mother’s diagnosis of my ambition is a matter of profound indifference to me,” I said coldly. “What matters now is the immediate future of our children. Grace and Noah are staying here with me. You are going to sign a temporary custody and financial support agreement drafted by Sarah before you leave this room. If you contest it—if your mother or sister come within five miles of this hospital or my children—I won't just use family court. I will unleash every federal resource at my disposal to dismantle your family's social standing, financial assets, and legal practices.”
The door suddenly burst open.
Before the U.S. Marshals stationed outside could intervene, Margaret Ellis strode into the room, followed closely by her weeping daughter, Natalie. Margaret looked like an avenging matriarch from a Greek tragedy, her face contorted with rage.
“Andrew!” Margaret shrieked, marching right past Sarah Jenkins as if she were a piece of furniture. “What is the meaning of this? There are federal marshals standing outside in the hallway! They asked for my identification! In my own son’s hospital room!”
“Mother, shut up,” Andrew said, not looking up from his hands.
“Don't you dare tell me to shut up!” Margaret yelled, pointing a manicured finger at my face. “This woman has completely poisoned your mind! Natalie has been crying all night! She deserves that boy! We are the Ellis family! We have status in this city! We belong to the Charlotte Country Club! We cannot be treated like common criminals by some—some jobless nobody!”
Sarah Jenkins stepped smoothly in front of Margaret, blocking her path to the bed. The litigator towered over Margaret by two inches, her expression a mask of bored amusement.
“Mrs. Ellis, I presume?” Sarah asked, her voice dripping with disdain. “I am Sarah Jenkins, counsel for Judge Katherine Monroe.”
Margaret sneered. “Judge? Don't insult my intelligence. I know what kind of woman she is—.”
“You know nothing, Mrs. Ellis,” Sarah cut in, her voice suddenly ringing with courtroom authority. “And as of approximately five minutes ago, you are officially prohibited by emergency judicial order from approaching this hospital, contacting my client, or making any further defamatory statements regarding her professional status. Furthermore, your daughter’s pathetic attempt to acquire a child through intimidation and amateur extortion has been fully documented and logged into federal records.”
Natalie burst into hysterical tears, hiding her face behind her mother’s shoulder. “Mother! She’s keeping the baby! Make her give us the baby!”
Margaret’s face turned a violent shade of purple. She looked at Andrew, expecting her usual cavalry charge. “Andrew! Are you going to let these women humiliate us? Tell them who we are! Tell them what our family means in Charlotte!”
Andrew slowly stood up. He looked older, smaller, completely hollowed out. He looked at his mother, then at his weeping sister, and finally, for the very first time since I had met him, he looked at them with unadulterated disgust.
“Mother,” Andrew said, his voice entirely steady. “Get out.”
“What did you say?” Margaret gasped.
“I said, get out of this hospital,” Andrew repeated, pointing toward the door. “And don't ever call me again. My marriage is over. My family is destroyed because of your arrogance, your cruelty, and your constant need to treat everyone around you like garbage. If you ever come near Katherine or my children again, I won't just let her use the federal marshals... I’ll help her write the arrest warrant myself.”
The silence in the room was absolute. Even Natalie stopped crying, staring at her brother as if he had grown a second head.
Margaret opened her mouth, closed it, and then turned toward me. In her eyes, there was no longer arrogance—only a cold, bottomless hatred.
“You have made a very powerful enemy today, Katherine,” Margaret whispered, her voice shaking with venom. “You think a black robe protects you? You think money and titles make you untouchable? This city belongs to people like us. We will destroy you.”
She grabbed Natalie by the arm and stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut with a final, echoing crash.
Sarah Jenkins watched them go, then turned to me, adjusting her cuffs with a satisfied smile.
“Well,” Sarah said lightly. “That’s Act One finished. Shall I draft the divorce papers for absolute destruction, or would you prefer to leave them a little bit of dignity?”
May you like
I looked down at Noah, who was stretching his tiny hands out in his sleep, completely safe.
“No dignity, Sarah,” I said calmly. “Let’s take everything.”
