Chapter 22 Knox
KNOX
I hate starting a day like this, but I like fast court more than slow court.
We dress clean, neutral. No sunglasses. No biker jackets.
We take the back entrance, clear security, and sit at the counsel table with our binders open.
The chain-of-creation package sits in front of me: split sheets, DAW logs, stem lists, time-stamped exports, session video stills, behind-the-scenes clips with slates, file metadata printouts, calendar invites, and receipt trail. A simple index on top.
Across the aisle, Troy sits with his lawyer. Hoodie under a blazer. He doesn’t look at us. He stares at the rail like it owes him something. He glances at the gallery where the press sits. He likes that part. He always did.
The judge takes the bench right on time. Mid-fifties, direct, not bored. “On calendar: Turner versus Turner et al. Application for temporary restraining order and preliminary injunction.” She looks down the docket. “Counsel, appearances.”
Troy’s lawyer stands. Name, firm. Our counsel stands. Name, firm. I sit with my hands flat because it keeps me from doing anything else.
Troy’s side goes first. Standard pitch. He says, “my client’s intellectual property,” “misappropriation,” and “irreparable harm.” He says, “ideas captured during the family band era,” like that phrase means something in law.
He waves at a PDF that looks like a list of titles without files.
He takes a shot at “Locket” by name. He says it pulls from “themes” he claims he had in a voice memo.
He asks to enjoin the release, distribution, and promotion.
The judge asks, “Do you have dated files?”
He says they are “recovering access.”
She asks, “Do you have any contemporaneous writings tied to the compositions at issue?”
He says, “Proprietary pattern and practice.”
The fuck does that even mean?
She asks, “Anything other than your client’s say-so?”
He moves on to “public confusion” and “ongoing damage to brand.”
Our counsel stands. No theatrics. “Your Honor, we have a clear chain of creation for the works at issue this month.” He hands up the index and a slim binder—one song per tab, “Locket” first. “We’ll hit the high points.
The record shows authorship by Houston Turner, with contributions by Knox and Salem Turner.
Ms. Navarro recorded guide tones. She is credited accordingly. ”
“Proof beyond their word?”
“We have session files with embedded time stamps, export logs, and session video that matches. We also have location-stamped behind-the-scenes footage showing the same takes on the same dates. We have the paper trail for studio time, engineer confirmations, and a calendar that aligns with all of it.”
The judge holds up a hand. “Play the hallway clip,” she says.
The bailiff dims the lights. The clip runs.
Grainy, time stamp in the corner, a figure moving with a small left-foot drag on push-off.
I feel the hairs on my arms lift because I know that walk.
The judge watches twice. “Authenticate this,” she says.
Our counsel calls the guard as a declarant in the papers; the judge nods. “All right.”
Troy’s lawyer objects to the café audio. “Illegally recorded.”
Our counsel answers, “One-party consent jurisdiction, Your Honor. Also, opposing counsel made this the subject of his motion by claiming an unsafe environment and a need to maintain the status quo.”
The judge says, “I’ve seen worse on the six o’clock news,” and moves on.
She doesn’t need the audio. She has enough.
“Counsel,” she says to Troy’s side, “you are asking me to take possession of a set of songs you haven’t substantiated and to freeze the defendants’ work.
On this record, I don’t see likelihood of success on the merits, and the balance of equities is not in your favor. ”
She looks at our side. “As to safety, the court is not going to micromanage a family fight.”
She rules from the bench. “Plaintiff’s application for a temporary restraining order based on IP ownership is denied.
The request to enjoin distribution or promotion is denied.
Defendants’ request for a temporary restraining order is granted in part.
Mr. Troy Turner shall stay five hundred feet from Sagebrush Studio, the hotel suites listed in the sealed attachment, and from defendants Knox, Houston, and Salem Turner, and Ms. Lou Navarro.
No direct or indirect contact. No release of any purported intimate videos or images; preservation of any devices potentially containing such files is ordered.
Lawful law enforcement requests shall be honored.
We will set a preliminary injunction hearing in three weeks.
Counsel to meet and confer on preservation. ”
Gavel. That’s it.
We stand. The clerk hands us the written TRO while we’re still in the well. We exit into the hall. Press cameras are there, but the deputies hold them back.
Troy peels off from his lawyer and crosses our path just enough to stink of intent. He looks at Salem and says, low but clear, “Keep an eye out for that video.” He grins like a kid breaking a vase and walks away.
I feel Salem go hot next to me. I step between them and put a hand on his chest. “Not today.” I glance at the officers around, and he settles.
Outside, the street noise is normal. Cameras click. We ignore them all. Quincy joins us at the curb. He’s in PR mode now. He wants to get us into cars and into a plan before we say something that becomes the next story.
We load into the SUV and go. No one talks until the doors close on the hotel conference room. Quincy starts. “Congratulations on the TRO. Now keep your heads down. Ignore the press on Troy. We have a record to launch. If this becomes the only thing anyone sees, we hand the moment to him.”
“We are done covering for Troy.”
Quincy exhales through his nose. “I didn’t say lie.”
“The court just ordered him to stay away and not release any so-called intimate videos. The public story exists whether we speak or not. We can either sound human or sound evasive.”
“Fine, fine.” Quincy rubs his temple. “You’ll make my job harder.”
“We make it possible.”
He sits with it. He knows I’m right. He just doesn’t like the feeling. “Draft me the line. I’ll get legal eyes on it. We’ll route requests to me. You don’t answer DMs or texts that look like ‘comment?’ We control what we can control.”
Back upstairs, the suite is quiet. The sun is still up. The balcony is empty. Lou is at the table with her laptop, but she watches me walk by the sliding door like she knew I’d go out there. I step outside and close the door behind me. The Strip hums below. The glass warms my back.
She joins me a minute later with two waters. She hands me one and sets the other on the rail. She doesn’t talk right away. I appreciate that.
“I know this is probably hardest on you,” she says finally. “I wanted to check on you. How are you?”
“It’s hard. It’s easier than it used to be. It’s easier because I’m not the only one holding the line. I can say the truth and not pretend it’s nothing. I have someone to share it with.”
She looks at me. The balcony light makes her face warm. “I’m honored to be that someone.”
“Thank you.”
I set my hand on her waist. She sets her hand on my chest, as if she’s feeling for a steady beat.
We kiss, and it calms the last of my nerves.
We break and don’t move far. She leans into my shoulder.
I put my arm around her and let the rest of the day pass the way days pass when you’ve done the necessary thing and there’s no need to talk it to death.
Silence is comfortable with Lou. Never knew that could be a thing.