Egomaniac

“Well, well, well, lookie what we have here. Seems the three of us have done this little dance before (be-fo-wah), haven’t we?

“Yes, your honor,” I said.

“Sure have, your ahn-na. Good to see you again,” opposing counsel drawled.

Walliford shuffled some papers and removed his glasses, then leaned back in his chair.

“Mr. Jagger, why do you think this case should be heard in a New York City courtroom instead of here in Atlanta? Do you not trust the wheels of justice to turn at the same speed as you northerners like things done?”

How the hell was I supposed to answer that? I’d filed a motion for a change in venue based on residency. I cleared my throat. “No, your honor. I’m sure this court would do a fine job in any case presented before it, but since the plaintiff and I are both residents of New York, I believe the proper jurisdiction would be New York County. According to our agreement—”

Carlyle butted in. “Your ahn-na, my client is a resident of the good state of Georgia. She was born and raised here. During her short-lived marriage to Mr. Jagger, she was a temporary resident of New York for a period of time, but she’s recently bought a house in Fulton County, and this is the state of her residence.” He held up some papers and continued. “I have here a copy of the deed to her new home, her Atlanta driver’s license, and a copy of the lease where she was temporarily staying in New York. You’ll see the lease was not even in Ms. Jagger’s name.”

“That’s crap. The lease was in my name because I was paying for it. She’s lived there for two years.” I knew before I finished that I’d made a huge mistake with my outburst.

Judge Walliford wagged his finger. “I will not tolerate that language in my courtroom. You northerners might find it acceptable to communicate that way, but this is not a smoky bar or some slick city street. You will respect this bench. I’m warning you, Mr. Jagger. After your behavior last time you were in this room, you’re on a very short leash.”

And that was the best part of my day. Judge Walliford denied my motion to change venues to New York and ordered a full trial on the change in custody petition Alexa had filed—to begin two weeks from Monday. The only thing he did in my favor was enforce our current custody schedule, where I had Beck Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, as well as Wednesday for dinner. Although he ordered my visitation to take place in, you guessed it, the great state of Georgia.

I waited until we were outside of the building before even attempting to approach Alexa. The last thing I needed was for her to scream that I was harassing her and have Walliford lock me up.

I gritted my teeth. “Alexa, can I speak to you, please?”

Carlyle took her elbow. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Alexa.”

I ignored him, looking my ex-wife in the eye. “You owe me at least this much. It’s been more than two years since I found out, and it still goddamn hurts. But I’ve never let Beck see or feel anything different than what he is to me. No matter what some fucking blood test says, he’s my son.” She looked away. “Look at me, Alexa. Look at me.” When she finally met my eyes, I continued. “You know me. Will I give up even if I lose in two weeks?”

Her lawyer stepped in. “Are you threatening my client?”

I continued to hold Alexa’s eyes. “No. I’m asking her to put our son first and not drag this out.”

She took a deep breath. “He’s not your son. Let’s go, Mr. Carlyle.”

Thank God Roman was standing next to me. He wrapped his arms around my chest so I couldn’t go after her, even as she walked away.

***

Before the flight home, I attempted unsuccessfully to sync my calendar so I could spend a few hours shuffling my schedule in order to spend Monday, Tuesday, and half the day Wednesday in New York, then be back in Atlanta for dinner with Beck on Wednesday night. I’d then stay in Atlanta and work remotely Thursday through Friday before I picked up Beck again for the weekend. It wasn’t going to be easy to cram an entire week’s worth of client appointments, depositions, and court appearances into two and a half days, but what choice did I have? My son needed to come first. He was already confused by the sudden move and not being able to spend his weekends at Daddy’s place. I also had little doubt that if I missed a single visitation, Judge Walliford would hear about it. I didn’t need to give him any more ammunition to use against me.