“That’s exactly the attitude you need,” Patricia replied approvingly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The courtroom turned out to be far less imposing than Linda had imagined. It resembled an ordinary municipal office—rows of wooden benches, a wide desk for the judge, the state seal mounted on the wall. Still, her pulse pounded in her ears. She kept twisting the strap of her purse in her hands, carefully avoiding looking at Michael, who sat across from her with irritating composure.
“Try not to worry,” Patricia murmured beside her. “We’ve prepared thoroughly.”
“And if he pulls something unexpected? You don’t really know him,” Linda whispered back.
Patricia’s lips curved slightly. “I deal with men like him every single day. Look—he brought Robert with him. The attorney who specializes in wealthy clients. But even he can’t argue with hard evidence.”
At that moment, the judge entered—a tired-looking woman in her mid-forties. She took her seat and began scanning the file.
“We are opening the hearing regarding the division of marital property between the spouses,” she announced briskly. “Plaintiff?”
Robert rose smoothly. “Michael Sokolov, Your Honor. My client requests that the defendant’s claims be dismissed. All disputed assets were purchased with his personal funds and are registered solely in his name.”
Linda’s hands clenched into fists. The audacity of it made her dizzy. She remembered counting every dollar, denying herself small comforts so the house could be built. She remembered taking on extra teaching hours at the college, telling herself it was all an investment in their shared future.
“Defendant, your position?” the judge asked.
Patricia stood. Her voice was calm but firm. “Linda does not accept the plaintiff’s demands. The property in question was acquired during the marriage. My client contributed both financially and through her labor. We have documentation to support this.”
Michael gave a derisive snort and muttered something to Robert, who nodded slightly.
“What kind of documentation?” the judge inquired.
Without haste, Patricia opened her folder. “Receipts signed by Michael acknowledging sums he received from his wife for construction expenses. Statements showing that building materials were paid for with Linda’s personal bank card. Bank records indicating significant cash withdrawals from her account during the construction period. In addition, we have witness testimony.”
“This is absurd!” Michael shot to his feet. “What receipts? That was years ago—I don’t remember any of that!”
“Order in the courtroom,” the judge warned sharply. “You will speak when addressed.”
Patricia handed over the documents. The judge examined them carefully, turning each page with deliberate attention.
“Call the first witness: Jason Sokolov.”
Jason stepped forward, visibly uneasy.
“Jason, can you confirm that your mother invested her own money into building the house?”
“Yes,” he said, swallowing. “I was young, but I remember Mom bringing cash to the construction site. She’d say, ‘This is my paycheck—it’s for materials.’”
“That’s nonsense!” Michael burst out again. “He’s just defending his mother!”
“Mr. Sokolov, one more interruption and you will be removed,” the judge said coldly.
Several other witnesses followed. Susan, their former neighbor, testified about how Linda had taken out a loan to make the first payment on the house. A colleague from the college recalled Linda tutoring students late into the evenings “to pay for the bathroom tiles,” as she had once joked.
With every testimony, Michael’s expression darkened. Robert flipped anxiously through his notes, clearly unsettled.
“I would also like to submit one final document,” Patricia said, producing a yellowed sheet of paper. “A power of attorney granted by Linda to her husband, authorizing him to manage business matters on her behalf. Along with this, a bank statement confirming that the initial capital for the company was transferred from her personal savings account.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. Michael’s face drained of color.
“Where did you get that?” he hissed.
“From the bank archives,” Patricia replied evenly. “They retain records for a very long time.”
The judge announced a recess for deliberation. Linda remained seated, scarcely daring to breathe, afraid that if she moved the fragile sense of hope might shatter.
“Are we going to win?” she asked under her breath.
Patricia gave her a confident wink. “We already have. The judge’s hands are tied—the law is on our side.”