Page 5 of Everest

Mr. Davis shrugs and the gesture pisses me off, but I keep my composure. Men like Mr. Davis see no real value in what it takes to be a homemaker.

“I guess so,” he replies.

“You guess so?” I ask. “Wouldn’t you think dropping out of college so she could get a job and support you while you finished medical school would constitute a good wife, Mr. Davis?”

“Yes, but—” Mr. Davis tries to cut in, but I don’t give him the chance.

“Not only did Mrs. Davis give up her dreams of finishing medical school, but she also picked up a second job during your first year of residency to support the son you two had together?”

“Well…"

“Do you also recall promising your wife that you’d support her returning to school once you finished your residency?”

“I did, but?—”

“Only you didn’t follow through on that promise, did you, Mr. Davis? You decided you wanted to open your own practice. Therefore, your wife once again had to put her dreams on hold. But instead of going back to school, she continued to support you like a good wife while you built a successful practice. One that has been operating for over fifteen years.”

Mr. Davis’s face turns red with anger. “She could have gone back to school at any time.”

“Is that right? Let’s see, Mr. Davis. While you were finishing medical school and building your practice, your wife was busy working a full-time job, and when she was finally able to quit her job, she was busy raising your three children. What do you think a stay-at-home mom does all day, Mr. Davis?” I don’t give him a chance to answer. “I’ll tell you what a stay-at-home mom is. She is a maid, a nurse, a chauffeur, a teacher, a cook, a secretary, a mediator, a party planner, and a therapist. Being a stay-at-home mom is the single hardest job anyone is tasked with. Your wife dedicated thirty-five years to helping you build your dream while taking care of your family, and I find it rather insulting that when I asked you if Mrs. Davis was a good wife, you simply shrugged your shoulders. It seems to me, Mr. Davis, that you would not be where you are today if you did not have your wife. We also find it insulting that the only possessions you feel she is entitled to today are the car and the clothes on her back.”

“Your honor.” Reeves stands, cutting off my line of questioning.

Judge Bishop holds his hand up. “I’d like Mr. Davis to answer the question."

I nod my appreciation and turn back to Mr. Davis, who shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “I worked hard for my career.”

“That wasn’t what I asked, Mr. Davis. Would you or would you not be where you are today without your wife?”

Mr. Davis purses his lips. “No, but?—”

“I didn’t think so. Now, I’m going to move on to my next question. You stated yesterday that you simply fell out of love with your wife and that it wouldn’t be fair to you or her to stay in a loveless marriage. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“Hmm.” I turn, walk over to the table where Mrs. Davis is sitting, and pick up a file folder. “So, you’re saying it’s not because you have been carrying on an affair with your partner's wife for the past ten months?”

Reeves flies to his feet once again. “Objection!”

“I have evidence, your honor.” I hold up the folder.

“Overruled. You may proceed, Ms. Monroe.”

“Thank you, your honor.” I open the folder, producing the first photograph. “Mr. Davis, is this you in the photograph?” I hold up the image before him and watch as the color drains from his face.

“Ye… yes.”

Approaching the bench, I hand over the image to the judge. “Your honor, as you can see, this is an image of Mr. Davis with his arms around and kissing a woman who isnothis wife. I also want to note the time stamp on that photograph. It was taken just two days after Mr. Davis served Mrs. Davis with divorce papers. I have over sixty other photos of Mr. Davis and that same woman who has been identified as Melody Bartel, wife of Jim Bartel, Mr. Davis’s partner.” I hand over the folder to the judge. “I’d like to note, your honor, that my client is not only asking forhalf of all marital assets, but we are requesting compensation for emotional distress.”

“Like hell!” Mr. Davis jumps to his feet. “She’s not getting anywhere near my money.” Spittle flies from his mouth.

Judge Bishop slams his gavel. “Mr. Davis, I’m going to suggest you keep your composure while in my courtroom.” Judge Bishop then addresses Reeves. “Mr. Reeves, I’m advising you to keep your client in check. Another outburst like that and he will spend the night in jail.”

“Yes, your honor,” Reeves says, clearly agitated. “My apologies.”

“Apologies! Those bitches are trying to rob me blind, and you’re apologizing?”

I hide my smirk as the judge slams his gavel. “That is enough, Mr. Davis. I’m holding you in contempt.”

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