As a social worker herself, she understood how little time most put into keeping up-to-date records. She’d struggled day and night to keep up with the caseload when she’d worked with abused women, and paperwork was done in between visits with victims. More than once, Jonathan rose and objected to the other lawyer’s insinuations or attempts to discredit Madison, questioning the reasons for the character assassination. He offered an excuse of laying groundwork, and the judge agreed to humor him a little while longer.
The morning marched on with more of the same, and Madison was beyond embarrassed that Alex had to hear her sordid youth, which she never discussed and preferred not to remember.
“Your Honor!” Jonathan rose again, his voice filled with frustration. “Is there a point to this? It’s up to Mr. Grayson to prove his claims that Ms. Evans used undue influence to gain access to her foster mother’s power of attorney. So far I’ve heard nothing of the sort.”
“Good point, Mr. Ridgeway.” His Honor, Judge Collins, a kindly looking, balding older man, turned to Eric’s attorney. “Mr. Newcomb?”
“Just laying the foundation, Your Honor,” he repeated in a sickeningly placating tone. “But we’re happy to move on. We’d like to call Madison Evans to the stand.”
Her stomach cramped, but she’d been prepped for this moment, something Jonathan leaned close and reminded her. Alex placed a soothing hand on her shoulder, but she couldn’t focus on him now. She couldn’t even look at him.
Rising, she walked to the small witness box and took her seat.
Alex took in the stiff set of Madison’s shoulders and the way she wouldn’t glance his way or meet his gaze so he could offer reassurance. He leaned forward in his seat, every muscle in his body tense and prepared to strike. Not that he could do a damned thing but sit and watch. There was nothing he hated more than feeling utterly useless when she needed him.
More than once this morning, he regretted not putting his personal feelings aside and staying with her last night. Once more in his life, he’d let ego get in the way of common, rational sense.
After some preliminary easy questions, her step-brother’s lawyer went for stabbingly painful questions. “How many foster homes were you in, Ms. Evans?”
“Five or six.”
“Actually, it was seven.”
“It’s not something I like to remember.”
“No, I suppose not, given that nobody wanted to keep you.”
“Your Honor,” Jonathan said, rising.
They’d been advised that since this was a hearing and not a trial, formal objections wouldn’t apply.
“Move it along, Mr. Newcomb. All this has already been established and is in the records.”
The other lawyer nodded. “Then you ended up with the Graysons, and things changed for you.”
Since it wasn’t a question, Madison didn’t answer. Good girl, Alex thought.
“Were you told why the Graysons, who were an unusual type of foster family in that they didn’t need the money provided by the state for your care, wanted to take you in?”
Madison nodded. “Franny couldn’t have kids after Eric, and she’d always wanted a daughter.”
“And they had money,” the bastard lawyer said.
Again, no question, and Madison merely stared at him.
“Were you and Mrs. Grayson close?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“She took you shopping, bought you clothes?”
“Yes.”
He rested an elbow on the witness stand. “And you had your own room, unlike your last six … no, make that seven foster homes, correct?”
“Yes.”
Alex saw the tension, the toll this was taking on her. His hands were fists at his sides.