Chapter 24 #2
She’d had two weeks to prepare for this moment, but preparation didn't make it easier.
She rose from her seat in the gallery, aware of every eye in the courtroom tracking her movement.
Rachel's expression remained neutral. Valerie's face went white, then red, her composure shattering for a moment before she pulled it back together.
And Astoria—
Miller didn’t let herself look at Astoria. She couldn’t afford the distraction.
She walked to the witness stand, her heels loud on the wooden floor in the sudden quiet. The bailiff met her with a Bible.
“Raise your right hand,” she said. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do.”
“Be seated.”
Miller sat. The witness chair was harder than it looked, and the vantage point was strange. She could see the whole courtroom from here, both tables, the gallery, the judge's bench. She folded her hands in her lap and waited.
Gerald approached the podium. “Ms. Scott, would you state your occupation for the record?”
“I’m an attorney at Hartwell and Associates, specializing in family law.”
“And what was your role in this case initially?”
“I was the second chair, assisting Rachel Hartwell in representing Valerie Shepry-Dane.”
“But you’re no longer involved in the case. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct. I recused myself in June.”
Gerald nodded, letting that sit for a moment. “Ms. Scott, I’d like to direct your attention to a meeting that took place on July twenty-fifth of this year. Were you present at a strategy session in the Hartwell and Associates conference room?”
“I was. Rachel asked me to sit in as a consultant to offer a fresh perspective.”
“And who else was present at that meeting?”
“Rachel Hartwell and Valerie Shepry-Dane.”
“Can you describe what was discussed?”
Miller took a breath. This was it. “The meeting was to review the strategy ahead of the trial.
Ms. Shepry-Dane expressed frustration that the case wasn't going the way she'd hoped.
She proposed a new approach: introducing claims about Astoria Shepry's mental state and personal conduct during the marriage.”
“What kind of claims?”
“Allegations of instability and erratic behavior. Episodes that she characterized as dangerous.” Miller kept her voice steady and devoid of judgment.
“She described incidents where Ms. Shepry allegedly threw objects, isolated herself for days, and refused to eat or sleep.
She wanted these claims presented to the court to undermine Ms. Shepry's credibility.”
“And what was your response to the proposed claims?”
“I asked if they could be verified. Whether there were any witnesses, documentation, medical records—anything beyond Ms. Shepry-Dane’s own account.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she had witnessed these events herself. When I pointed out that made her a party to the case rather than an objective source, she became defensive. She eventually admitted the claims were her interpretation of events.” Miller paused. “Her exact words were ‘my truth.’”
A murmur rippled through the gallery. Judge Whitcombe’s eyes sharpened.
“And what was your professional assessment of these claims?” Gerald asked.
“That they were unsubstantiated and presenting them as fact in court would be potentially defamatory at best and ethically untenable at worst. I strongly advised against using them.”
“What happened next?”
“Rachel agreed with my assessment and told Ms. Shepry-Dane that the firm wouldn’t present claims they couldn’t verify. Ms. Shepry-Dane was…” Miller hesitated, wanting to choose her words carefully and without bias. “She was unhappy with that decision.”
“Objection.” Rachel rose, her voice calm, but firm. “This calls for speculation about my client’s emotional state.”
“I’ll rephrase,” Gerald said smoothly. “Ms. Scott, what did Ms. Shepry-Dane do after being told the claims wouldn’t be used?”
“She left the meeting abruptly.”
Gerald let the silence hang a moment then nodded. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
Judge Whitcombe turned to Rachel. “Cross-examination?”
Rachel stood slowly. Miller could see the calculation behind her eyes—how hard to push, what angles to take. They'd worked together for years. Rachel knew Miller's strengths and weaknesses and knew how to rattle a witness. But she also knew Miller was telling the truth.
“Ms. Scott,” Rachel began, “you testified that my client described certain incidents from her marriage. Isn't it possible that she genuinely experienced these events, even if documentation doesn't exist?"
“It’s possible she believes she experienced them,” Miller said tactfully. “But belief isn't evidence. And the way she described them—the framing, the timing of when she wanted to introduce them—suggested more strategy rather than truth-telling.”
“That’s your interpretation.”
“Yes. It’s my professional opinion based on six years of practicing family law and recognizing when a client is trying to manipulate a narrative rather than present facts.”
Another murmur stirred through the gallery. The muscles in Rachel’s jaw tightened slightly.
“Nothing further,” she said and sat down.
“The witness may step down,” Judge Whitcombe said.
Miller rose from the chair, her legs slightly unsteady. As she turned to leave the stand, her eyes finally found Astoria.
Astoria was watching her already. From beneath the ice queen mask, Miller saw something raw and unguarded visible.
Not just gratitude, though that was there, but it was something deeper.
Miller held her gaze for a moment, just a moment, before looking away and walking back to her seat in the gallery.
Behind her, she heard Valerie’s sharp whisper to Rachel, the words indistinct but the barely contained fury in her tone was unmistakable.
Miller sat down and shoved her hands between her legs and the wooden bench.
The realization that she’d just testified against her own firm’s client was settling in her body.
There would be consequences, no doubt, even though she was subpoenaed.
She expected losing her standing in the partnership path at the minimum, but she was anxious about the other professional complications she couldn’t yet predict.
But beneath the anxiety, she didn’t care. Not really. The truth was in the record now. Valerie’s attempt to destroy Astoria with fabricated claims had been exposed under oath. Whatever happened next, Miller could breathe easier knowing she’d done everything she could.
She risked one more glance at Astoria who was still looking at her. This time, she didn’t look away.
The afternoon stretched on. Lunch had been a quiet hour in the courthouse café, picking at a sandwich she didn't taste. Now the trial had resumed, and the atmosphere in the room had shifted.
Gerald called his next witness: a forensic accountant who methodically dismantled Valerie's financial claims. Then a former employee of Shepry Global who testified about Astoria's hands-on leadership in the company's early years, long before Valerie entered the picture.
Then another witness, and another, each one adding weight to the same conclusion that Astoria had built her own empire and Valerie had merely lived in it.
But it was the documentary evidence that landed hardest.
Gerald introduced a series of exhibits: financial records, timeline analyses, correspondence that contradicted Valerie's narrative at every turn. Miller watched the documents appear on the courtroom's display screens and felt something strange move through her chest.
She recognized this work. Miller had compiled this months ago.
Before everything fell apart, she'd spent late nights building the evidentiary foundation—ostensibly for Valerie's case, but the deeper she dug, the more the evidence pointed the other way.
She'd handed it all to Rachel when she recused.
Rachel, bound by ethics, had disclosed it during discovery, and now Gerald was using it to bury Valerie with her own lies.
Across the courtroom, Astoria was staring at the screens. Miller watched her take it in, understanding dawning on Astoria’s face as she realized what she was looking at. Astoria turned her head slowly, her eyes finding Miller’s in the gallery immediately.
A silent communication passed between them: You did this?
Miller couldn’t look away or pretend like she didn’t see the question in Astoria’s eyes. Miller gave the smallest nod.
The evidence presentation continued, but Miller barely heard it. She was hyperaware of Astoria’s presence across the room, too conscious of everything that hung between them.
Finally, Gerald rested his case. Rachel offered a brief rebuttal, but Miller could tell her heart wasn’t really in it. The evidence was too damning, and they both knew it. Judge Whitcombe wrote some notes, asked a few clarifying questions, then set her pen down.
“I’ve heard sufficient testimony and reviewed the evidence presented by both parties,” the judge said. “I’ll take the matter under advisement and issue my ruling on Wednesday morning. Court is adjourned.”
The bang of the gavel echoed through the room.
People rose, gathered their belongings, and began filing toward the exits. Miller stayed in her seat, watching as Astoria stood and conferred quietly with Gerald before she smoothed her jacket and prepared to face the reporters waiting outside.
Astoria glanced back once more before Gerald guided her to the door. Her lips parted and moved, just slightly, but Miller could still make out the words thank you.
Then she was gone, swept through the door and into the hallway beyond.
Miller stayed sitting in the gallery. On Wednesday, the judge would rule, and the case would end one way or another.
And then, there would be nothing left between them. No case, no ethical barrier, no professional obligation keeping them apart. They’d just be two people who had hurt each other and made impossible choices.
Miller didn’t know what would happen next. She didn’t know if Astoria would even want to see her, speak to her, or try again.
She didn’t know if the damage could be repaired or if some things, once broken, stayed that way.
But the way Astoria looked at her today, for the first time in weeks, she dared to hope.