15. Exposed on the Stand #2
"Your Honor," Victoria tried again, "the timing may appear suspicious, but—"
"It doesn't appear suspicious. It is suspicious.
" Judge Morrison's voice was ice. "And when combined with the surveyor's notation about adjusting the baseline per client specification, and with the internal communications Mr. Caldwell presented showing deliberate creation of legal vulnerabilities, and with the conveniently timed emergency motion filed only after fraud allegations were raised—the picture becomes very clear. "
She looked at Victoria Curtis with barely concealed disgust. "This court does not appreciate being used as a tool for corporate harassment.
Motion for injunctive relief is denied. Furthermore, I'm accelerating the independent survey to be completed within seventy-two hours rather than one week.
Both parties will be notified of results immediately upon completion. "
"Your Honor—" Victoria started.
"I'm not finished." Judge Morrison's gaze swept across the opposing counsel table.
"I'm also ordering your client and all associated parties to preserve all documents and communications related to this property dispute.
If the independent survey confirms Mr. Caldwell's fraud allegations, I will be referring this matter to the county prosecutor for criminal investigation.
And I will be reporting the involved attorneys to the state bar for potential ethics violations. "
The courtroom erupted in whispers. I heard someone in the gallery—Tessa, probably—let out a whoop of celebration.
"Court is adjourned." Judge Morrison banged her gavel. "Mr. Caldwell, Ms. Romano, well done. The truth matters in my courtroom."
Outside the courthouse, Maya threw her arms around me without warning, her face pressed into my shoulder.
"We won," she said, her voice muffled. "You did it. You actually did it."
"We did it," I corrected, holding her tightly. "Your business plan, your credentials, your fight. I just translated it into legal language."
She pulled back, looking up at me with tears in her honey-brown eyes—happy tears, for once. "Thank you. For believing in me. For fighting for me. For seeing what I built and valuing it."
I wanted to kiss her. Standing there on the courthouse steps, with half the island watching, with victory fresh and real—I wanted to forget every complication and just kiss her.
But then I saw Victoria Curtis exit the courthouse, her expression thunderous, her phone already at her ear.
"Ethan." She approached us, her voice low and furious. "You just destroyed your career. You know that, right? Marcus will make sure you never practice law again."
"I'm already not practicing law," I said evenly. "Your firm saw to that when you fired me."
"This is different. You disclosed privileged communications in open court. That's grounds for immediate disbarment, not just employment termination." She stepped closer. "Marcus wanted to give you an out. Now? You're done. Permanently."
My phone started buzzing—Marcus calling, undoubtedly having watched the hearing online or been informed by Victoria.
"I should take this," I told Maya quietly.
"Ethan—"
"It's okay." I squeezed her hand. "Go celebrate with Tessa and the others. I'll catch up."
I walked away from the courthouse, answering on the fourth ring. "Marcus."
"You arrogant, self-destructive fool." His voice was ice and fury. "Do you have any idea what you just did? You disclosed privileged attorney-client communications in open court. You violated every ethical rule in the book."
"I disclosed evidence of fraud. The crime-fraud exception—"
"Doesn't apply when you stole the documents before you had evidence of fraud," Marcus cut me off. "You took those emails when you were still employed by us, before Maya Romano was even your client. That's theft of confidential information, Ethan. That's disbarment."
My stomach dropped. He was right. I'd copied those emails the day I discovered the fraud, before I'd officially terminated my employment, before I'd formally represented Maya.
"You wanted to be a hero?" Marcus continued.
"Congratulations. You just committed career suicide.
I'm filing a formal complaint with the state bar this afternoon.
By the end of the month, you'll be disbarred, unemployable, and facing potential criminal charges for theft of confidential information. "
"The judge—"
"The judge doesn't care about your motivations. She cares about the law. And you broke it." He paused. "This is what happens when you let emotion cloud your judgment, Ethan. You had a good career. You threw it away for a woman you barely know and a case that isn't even yours."
He hung up.
I stood on the Friday Harbor waterfront, waiting to catch the next ferry to Lopez Island, watching the boats navigate the harbor, my phone still in my hand.
I'd won the hearing. Exposed the fraud. Saved Maya's bakery—at least temporarily.
And I'd just destroyed any chance I had of keeping my law license.
Marcus was right. I'd taken those emails before I had a client, before I had evidence justifying the disclosure. The crime-fraud exception wouldn't protect me because the timeline was wrong.
I'd committed an ethics violation trying to prevent a worse one.
And now I'd pay the price.
My phone buzzed with a text from Maya: Where are you? Everyone wants to celebrate. You're the hero of Lopez Island.
I stared at that message for a long moment.
Hero. Right.
I typed back: Be there soon. Just needed some air.
But I didn't move. I stood on that waterfront, watching the island I'd fled twenty years ago, the island I'd come back to for a business assignment, the island that had somehow become the place where I'd finally figured out who I wanted to be.
Too late.
I'd figured it out too late.