Page 10 of The Feud

The bailiff calls out, “The Honorable Harold F. Laudermilk is in attendance to this great court of Shelby County.”

Before even taking a step onto the raised dais, the judge motions to the gallery. “Sit, sit. Not big on pomp.”

Unsure whether the judge’s casual attitude makes me feel better or not, I settle back down onto the wooden bench along with my family. I glance over at the Mardraggons on the other side of the aisle. Their faces are all narrowed in on the Santa double—expressions filled with suspicion and defense. That includes Sylvie, who looks as displeased with the situation as her grandparents.

“Good morning, everyone,” Judge Laudermilk says as he clasps his hands on his desk and peers over the top of his glasses. “I understand we are here for a custody issue involving—”

“If it please the court.” The Mardraggons’ attorney stands from his table and buttons his suit jacket. Everyone in Shelby County knows Byron Rotenburg and that he has represented the Mardraggon business dealings in Kentucky for decades. His dark gray power suit and Rolex glinting on his wrist speak to the volume of money he’s paid to advocate for whatever they want.

“I’m here on behalf of Lionel and Rosemund Mardraggon who vehemently disagree that there’s a custody issue at all. Their daughter, Alaine, added Ethan Blackburn to the birth certificate of their granddaughter, Sylvie, shortly before Alaine succumbed to an aggressive form of brain cancer. It’s our contention that she was not mentally competent—”

“Sit down, Mr. Rotenburg.” Judge Laudermilk’s tone is anything but holly and jolly, his blue eyes frigid. “I’m very aware of your position as I did my homework and actually read the legal briefs submitted ahead of time. I do not want this to turn into a contentious brawl, especially not when there is a child sitting in this courtroom. As such, I would like to have a private meeting in my chambers with you, just one of your clients—either Mr. or Mrs. Mardraggon, I care not which—” Judge Laudermilk pauses, looks over the courtroom and pins his gaze on Todd Gillam. “You, Mr. Gillam, as the attorney representing the child. I would like Miss Sylvie to join us as well.” Judge Laudermilk looks out into the gallery, his gaze landing on me. I’m surprised to be singled out. How the hell does the judge know who I am? “Mr. Blackburn. Please join us.”

The Mardraggons immediately engage in a whispered argument with their attorney, but it is Lionel Mardraggon who stands and follows Mr. Rotenburg through a swinging gate. Sylvie trails behind and I take up the rear, casting one last glance back at my family. They all smile with supportive love in their expressions. Wade gives me a double thumbs-up.

The judge’s office has the same paneled walls as the courtroom and, in the center, a massive wooden desk with clawed feet and a green banker’s lamp. Files are scattered about—on the desk, chairs and even the floor. There is a laptop, but it’s closed and under three files, giving me the impression it isn’t used often.

Judge Laudermilk discards his robes, hanging them on a hook on the back of his door, leaving him in a white dress shirt and navy tie. His shirt is tailored and fits nicely over his portly belly.

Turning his gaze to Sylvie, he extends his hand as he bends at the waist. “Hello, young lady. You must be Sylvie Mardraggon. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

My heart pounds as I stare at my daughter, waiting to hear her first words. Sylvie’s expression is guarded and she shakes the judge’s hand without saying a word.

“Manners, young lady,” Lionel Mardraggon orders his granddaughter in his imperious tone. “Say hello.”

Lionel’s stern and unyielding expression is uncalled for in this situation and I want to punch him for not being softer with his granddaughter.

“Hello,” Sylvie says softly, without dropping her gaze from the judge’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

In just those few words, my legs turn to Jell-O.

She has a French accent, and it shouldn’t be shocking since she was raised there, but the lilting intonation that lends a musical quality to her greeting constricts my chest. It is sweet and vulnerable and with Lionel Mardraggon’s harsh expression as he watches, it makes me feel overprotective in a way I don’t understand.

Judge Laudermilk gives Sylvie a wink and straightens. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he turns to the three other men in the room and looks at each of us individually before saying, “I don’t want to drag this out. I’ve read the petition by Mr. Gillam who was hired by Sylvie’s mother before she passed. There is an affidavit from Alaine Mardraggon under oath, stating that Ethan Blackburn is the father and that it is Alaine Mardraggon’s wish for Sylvie to reside with Ethan.”

I can’t help myself. My gaze leaves the judge and flicks down to Sylvie. I’ve been around children my entire life. It was part of my job when I actively trained our show riders, some as young as six years old. I can probably identify every negative emotion a child might wear upon their face and I know… Sylvie is not happy about the judge’s last statement.

“Judge Laudermilk,” Byron Rotenburg interrupts.

“I’m not finished, Mr. Rotenburg,” the judge says, holding up his hand. “I also understand your position. The Mardraggons are petitioning the court to grant custody to them as they believe Alaine was mentally incompetent at the time due to her brain cancer, and while I appreciate that concern, Mr. Gillam also provided an affidavit from Alaine’s neurosurgeon testifying that she was competent at the time she signed all of her documents under oath.”

“There’s the issue of paternity,” the Mardraggons’ attorney points out.

“Easily remedied with a paternity test,” the judge drawls and walks around his desk. “I’m ordering a test be done immediately.” And here, his eyes cut briefly to Sylvie, then to me, and back to Mr. Rotenburg. “But I’m sure we all know what the test will reveal.”

“I don’t wish to live with that man,” Sylvie says ever so softly and yet her words seem to reverberate around the room. Her eyes are pinned on me but she speaks to the judge. “I want to live with Lionel and Rosemund.”

I couldn’t have dragged my gaze from her face if I tried. I’m riveted by the anger and dislike I see there, and it’s aimed only at me. Her distaste is so visceral, I can’t process the fact that she called her grandparents by their first names or that she seems to have everyone in the judge’s chambers spellbound by her audacity and confidence to speak out in such a way.

“Miss Sylvie,” Judge Laudermilk says in his most courtly tone. He puts a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I understand how awful things have been for you, especially with your mother dying. I know that you’re very out of sorts and none of this is fair. But we do have laws to follow in this state, and if Ethan Blackburn is your father, and he wants custody of you—”

“I do,” I say, the first words I’ve uttered during this entire proceeding. I say this not looking at the judge or anyone else. I am speaking from the heart and my message is for Sylvie. “Once the test comes back proving she’s mine, I’ll want her with me.”

“That is not what’s best for her,” Lionel Mardraggon booms before wheeling on his attorney. “You fix this or you’re fired.”

“Mr. Mardraggon,” Judge Laudermilk says, and gone is the genteel tone he used with Sylvie. Instead, it’s laced with the steel of a man who could put the great Mardraggon patriarch in jail if he so desired. “This is not your attorney’s decision. It is mine. And there is no fixing this. I’m going to follow the law.” Once again, he turns to Sylvie and gentles his expression. “But here’s what I’m going to do for you. For the time being, and until paternity is proven, you’ll stay with your grandparents. If it’s determined that Ethan Blackburn is your father, I’m going to order that he become your legal guardian. However, I will order an evaluation in two months’ time and we will revisit the matter. If things are not working out and you wish to go back to the Mardraggons, I will certainly take your wishes into consideration. Just know that my job is to do what’s in your best interest, Miss Sylvie.”

Sylvie’s expression hardens on the judge and it is both impressive and terrifying to me that she has the confidence in that tiny body to voice such a strong opinion. “I don’t understand why it can’t be my choice now.”

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