Chapter 13 - Nine in the Morning
We worked through the night.
Samuel drafted an emergency petition to block the sale and preserve the trust's records.
Nadia assembled invoices and photographs of the unfinished building.
A forensic accountant traced payments through three companies with different names and the same mailing address.
I called Marcus Bell and told him the trust would refund his unauthorized placement fee.
"You haven't even won yet," he said.
"It was never ours to take."
By two in the morning, reporters were asking for a statement about the ballroom assault.
I gave them one sentence through counsel: My family deserves the same due process as everyone else, and the veterans who contributed to Harbor House deserve the truth.
I declined to discuss my Navy duties.
The case concerned a private charity, not the authority of my uniform.
At six, Samuel filed the petition.
At eight, we entered a courthouse that smelled of old paper and burnt coffee.
Derek arrived in an expensive suit with a lawyer carrying two briefcases.
He passed me without looking up.
Patricia stopped.
"You could end this," she said. "Just apologize for what happened at the gala."
"For being slapped?"
"For making it public."
I thought of Marcus's daughter and her cardboard house.
"You still think the worst thing here is that someone saw you."
Inside, Samuel presented the hospital record, the care ledger, and the suspicious deed.
Derek's attorney insisted the trust had authorized the sale.
The judge ordered a forty-eight-hour pause while she reviewed the chain of title.
We had bought time.
Not safety.
As we left, Nadia received a text from the county recorder.
May you like
Her face drained.
"Caroline," she said, "the deed wasn't filed this morning. Someone recorded it six months ago."
