Prologue #2
Warren's attorney scoffed. "Your Honor, my client shops at that establishment regularly. It was a coincidence, nothing more. There's no law against shopping at the same store."
"It wasn't a coincidence," I said. "I have evidence."
My advocate approached the bench with the folder of evidence, showing the judge a series of photos I'd taken from my car. "These were taken on five separate occasions, Your Honor."
The judge examined the images, his expression unchanged. "I see Mr. Ellison in a parking lot. This doesn't necessarily constitute stalking."
"If I may, Your Honor," I said, my voice cracking. "Those photos are just part of the pattern."
The judge nodded for me to continue.
"He would park across from my apartment building for hours.
Sometimes all night." I swallowed hard. "I documented twenty-seven instances where his car remained parked there between midnight and 5 AM.
I have photos of him taking pictures of me," I said, my voice stronger now. "From his car, with a telephoto lens."
My advocate handed the judge a set of enlarged photographs. They showed Warren crouched behind his steering wheel, a long camera lens poking out of his partially open window. In the reflection of his car's side mirror, you could see me loading grocery bags into my trunk.
"These were taken by my neighbor," I explained. "She noticed him there three days in a row and became concerned."
Warren's attorney leaned forward. "Your Honor, my client is an amateur photographer. This proves nothing."
"He drove by my house multiple times a day," I continued, ignoring the interruption. "Sometimes slowly, sometimes stopping completely. My doorbell camera captured his car passing by seventeen times in a single day." I swallowed hard. "That's once every forty-two minutes during daylight hours."
Warren's attorney approached the bench, shaking his head with theatrical disappointment. "Your Honor, if I may. We need to address the elephant in the room."
The judge gestured for him to continue.
"Why would my client—a sixty-year-old respected business executive with an impeccable record—stalk Ms. Holloway?
What possible motive would he have?" He turned to face the courtroom.
"Mr. Ellison is happily married with adult children and grandchildren.
Ms. Holloway was simply one of dozens of employees under his supervision. "
My advocate started to object, but the attorney continued, his voice rising.
"The truth is, Your Honor, we have a young woman with documented mental health issues creating an elaborate fantasy." He gestured toward me with barely concealed disdain. "Mr. Ellison attempted to help her career, and she misinterpreted his actions.”
"Your Honor," Warren's attorney said, his tone shifting to something almost paternal, "I move to dismiss the stalking order and the alleged violations. The evidence presented today shows nothing more than coincidental encounters between two people who live in the same community."
I gripped the edge of the table so hard my fingertips turned white.
"The text message in question," he continued, holding up a printed copy, "was clearly sent in error.
My client was attempting to message his wife about dinner plans and accidentally selected Ms. Holloway's contact information instead.
" He paused dramatically. "An honest mistake that anyone could make. "
The judge studied the text message, his expression unreadable.
"And regarding the grocery store incident," the attorney pressed on, "Whole Foods is the only organic grocery store within a five-mile radius of both their residences.
My client has been shopping there for over a decade, long before Ms. Holloway ever began working at the company," Warren's attorney finished with a dismissive wave.
I felt bile rise in my throat. The way he twisted everything made me doubt myself for a split second. Was I imagining things? No, the hidden camera hadn't been my imagination. The wet toothbrush hadn't been my imagination.
Judge Harriman cleared his throat. "I'd like to address the most serious allegation directly," he said, turning to me. "Ms. Holloway, you claim Mr. Ellison placed a hidden camera in your apartment?"
"Yes, Your Honor. I found it behind my bookshelf, aimed at my bed." My voice came out stronger than I expected. "I have the device. I submitted it as evidence."
The judge nodded, flipping through the file. "The forensic report indicates the camera was purchased with cash at an electronics store. There is no way to link this directly to Mr. Ellison."
"But it matches the exact model used at the office," I said, my voice rising. "The same brand he installed in the conference rooms."
The judge held up his hand. "Ms. Holloway, please address the court in a calm manner."
I took a deep breath, feeling my nails dig into my palms. "I'm sorry, Your Honor."
Judge Harriman studied the papers before him, his face giving nothing away.
The courtroom fell silent, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of papers.
My advocate placed her hand on my arm, a small gesture of support that felt like the only thing keeping me from disintegrating.
"This court takes allegations of stalking very seriously," Judge Harriman finally said, looking up from his notes. "However, I must base my decision on evidence, and the evidence presented here today is circumstantial at best."
I felt my throat closing, the pressure building behind my eyes. This couldn't be happening.
"Your Honor," my advocate interjected, "we have documented thirty-four separate incidents—"
"Yes, Ms. Woods, I've reviewed your documentation," the judge interrupted.
"However, many of these incidents could be explained by coincidence or routine behavior patterns.
" He removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"The standard for a permanent stalking order requires clear and convincing evidence of intentional stalking behavior. "
Warren's face remained impassive, but there was a slight relaxation in his shoulders. He knew he was winning. He'd always known.
"In light of the evidence presented," Judge Harriman said, setting down his glasses, "this court finds insufficient grounds to maintain the temporary stalking order against Warren Ellison."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I couldn't breathe.
"Furthermore, the alleged violations cannot be substantiated with the required burden of proof." The judge's voice seemed to come from far away, echoing as if through water. "The petition for a permanent stalking order is hereby denied, and the temporary order is dissolved, effective immediately."
Warren's attorney placed a hand on his client's shoulder, leaning in to whisper something. Warren nodded once, his lips curving into that same slight smile.
"Your Honor," my advocate started, but the judge was already gathering his papers.
"My decision is final, Ms. Woods. Court is adjourned." The gavel came down with a crack that reverberated through my chest like a gunshot. The world tilted. I couldn't feel my hands.
My advocate gathered her papers, whispering something about "appealing the decision" and "other options," but her words dissolved before they could reach me.
Across the aisle, Warren stood, buttoning his jacket with practiced ease.
Our eyes met for one terrible moment. His weren't triumphant or smug—just empty.
Emotionless. As if this had been nothing more than a minor business transaction.
I remained frozen in my seat as the courtroom emptied. My mothers heels clicked against the tile floor like tiny hammers driving nails into my chest.
"Magdalena." My advocate touched my shoulder. "We should go. I can walk you to your car."
I nodded, moving on autopilot. The hallway stretched before me like a tunnel, voices echoing against marble floors. The world was suddenly too bright, too loud, too close.
Outside, the late afternoon sun seemed to mock me with its brightness. My advocate gently touched my elbow, guiding me through the courthouse doors.
"Magdalena, I know this isn't the outcome we wanted, but we have options," she said, her voice low and urgent. "We can appeal the decision, gather more evidence—"
"He won," I whispered. "He always wins."
She squeezed my arm. "This isn't over. I promise."
But it was. I knew it in the hollow space where my hope had been. Warren had shown me exactly what he was capable of—turning my own mother against me, twisting reality until I questioned my own sanity.
"I'll call you tomorrow," my advocate said. "We can regroup, figure out next steps."
I nodded, not trusting my voice. We parted at the courthouse steps, and I walked to my car alone, feeling exposed. Every person who passed seemed to be watching me, judging me. The sky pressed down, too vast and empty.
I fumbled with my keys, dropping them twice before managing to unlock my car. The leather seat was hot against my back as I slid inside and slammed the door. The silence enveloped me like a physical thing.
I gripped the steering wheel, staring straight ahead at nothing. My reflection in the rearview mirror looked like a stranger—hollow-eyed, pale, someone I didn't recognize anymore.
"It's over," I whispered to myself. "You did everything right, and it didn't matter."
The first sob caught me by surprise, tearing through my chest like a living thing. Then another followed, and another, until I couldn't breathe. I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, my body shaking with the force of my grief.
My phone buzzed in my purse. I ignored it, letting the tears come. They'd been building for months—since the first time I noticed Warren's car outside my apartment, since the moment I found the camera, since I realized no one was going to help me.