Page 327 of The Lies We Play
Whelan stands again.
He doesn’t look at the legal pad.
“Your Honor, while we acknowledge irregularities in the documentation, the substance of the conservatorship has been in the best interests of Mr. Saint Claire for the past ten years. The Saint Claire family has provided continuous care, medical oversight, and personal protection for a man whose memory and judgment have been severely compromised by the accident in question. The petitioner is a woman my client has not seen in a decade. My client can’t identify her in this room without prompting. To transfer the conservatorship to her on the basis of a marriage certificate he doesn’t remember signing is to ask this court to privilege paperwork over reality.”
Liv doesn’t move.
I can see her hand under the table, though.
Her fingers curl once.
Halston sees it too.
His hand shifts toward hers, barely, but enough.
Judge Reyes looks at Whelan for one long second.
“Anything else, counsel?”
“Your Honor—”
“Sit down, Mr. Whelan.”
Whelan sits.
And that’s when Constance stands.
Whelan reaches for her wrist. Constance shakes him off without looking. Everett doesn’t stop her. Everett, I realize, has been waiting for this. Maybe he suggested it. Maybe this was always the plan once the paper failed and the audio played and the dead notary entered the room with a stamp.
Constance doesn’t address the judge.
She turns her body toward Halston.
“Halston. Look at me.”
Whelan hisses something I can’t hear.
Halston doesn’t look up.
“Halston. You don’t remember this woman because there is nothing to remember. The Saint Claires have protected you from people like her your entire adult life.” She points at Livia. “Thieves—”
“Mrs. Saint Claire,” Judge Reyes says. “Take your seat.”
Constance keeps going.
“We have kept you safe. We have kept you well. We have kept you in the world your grandfather built for you, the world your father bled for, the world that has fed you and clothed you and put a roof over you since the day you were born.”
Judge Reyes raises a hand.
“Mrs. Saint Claire—”
Everett stands too.
“Hal. Listen to her.”
The judge’s voice cuts across the room.
“Mr. Saint Claire. Sit down.”
