Part 7
The first court date was set for a rainy Tuesday morning in late October.
I arrived at the courthouse with Michael, carrying a leather briefcase filled with printouts of our financial records and a flash drive containing every second of the security footage.
Travis was already sitting at the defense table. He looked different. The polished, confident man who always had a perfect haircut looked exhausted. His suit was slightly wrinkled—probably because he was living out of a suitcase at his mother’s condo.
Diane was sitting in the front row of the gallery behind him, her hands clutching her designer purse like a shield. She glared at me as I walked in, her mouth a thin, bitter line. Jenna was nowhere to be seen.
The judge, a no-nonsense woman named Henderson, looked over the filings with a look of profound boredom that only came from twenty years of watching people ruin their own lives.
"Mr. Brooks," Judge Henderson said, looking over her glasses at Travis’s attorney. "You are requesting an injunction to force entry back into the residence at 414 Elm Street. Your argument is that your client is a co-owner by virtue of marriage."
"Yes, Your Honor," the lawyer said, standing up tall. "My client has invested significant time and personal care into maintaining that home. He was discarded on the street without warning, causing immense professional damage."
Michael stood up before the man could even sit down.
"Your Honor, we have submitted the certified deed proving the property was purchased prior to the marriage using non-marital assets from my client's father. Furthermore, we have submitted financial logs showing that Mr. Brooks’ financial contributions were less than fifteen percent of the total household maintenance."
Michael walked over to the defense table and laid a piece of paper in front of Travis.
"And finally, we have submitted video evidence showing that the 'hardship' Mr. Brooks is suffering is entirely self-inflicted. The residence was being used to facilitate an extramarital affair with a third party, Miss Jenna Vance, who was actively moving her belongings into the home while my client was working twelve-hour shifts at the hospital."
Travis’s lawyer looked down at the paper. It was a still frame from the pantry camera, showing Travis kissing Jenna right in front of the refrigerator on a Thursday afternoon.
The judge looked at the image, then looked at Travis.
"Mr. Brooks," Judge Henderson said, her voice dropping an octave. "Is that your signature on the pre-marital property waiver attached to the original deed?"
Travis swallowed hard. He looked at his lawyer, then back at the judge.
May you like
"Yes, Your Honor," he whispered.
"Then this motion is denied," the judge said, slamming her gavel down with a sound that echoed through the high-ceilinged room. "And if I see you attempting to enter that property again without a sheriff's escort to collect your remaining clothing, I will hold you in contempt so fast your head will spin. Next case."
