Thirty-Two Years Later
Kenzi stared at the woman on the witness stand, trying not to blink, gape, or otherwise betray her thoughts. Possibly everyone in the courtroom needed an extra moment to digest what the witness had just said.
“I’m sorry. I’m not sure we all got that. Could you please repeat your last statement?”
The witness appeared peeved. “I don’t know how I could say it any more plainly. I got inseminated in the bathroom at Dick’s Drive-In.”
Kenzi glanced around the courtroom. Judge Cornwall, an African-American man in his mid-fifties, was nodding, obviously trying to maintain his judicial poker face. Even opposing counsel seemed to be struggling to remain composed.
Why could she never have a normal case?
Because in divorce court, nothing was ever normal…
“And…what brought you to this point?”
“My husband, Frank, that’s what. He’s useless in every possible way. I wanted children and I wasn’t going to get any with him.”
Kenzi took a deep, cleansing breath. Family court was always an adventure here in Seattle—Rain City, Coffee Capital of the World—and she doubted it was different anywhere else. Like most of the lawyers in her firm, she specialized in matrimonial law—divorce, separations, child custody, and everything that went with them. She’d made a reputation for herself, achieved considerable financial success, and developed a significant social media following, all from the ashes of failed romance. Severing couples who didn’t want to be together anymore suited her just fine. She didn’t see why anyone should be stuck in a relationship that didn’t work.
“You and your husband tried to get pregnant, I assume?”
“I tried. Frank wasn’t trying. I’m not sure he’s capable of trying.”
“What…exactly did you try?”
“A sexy dress. Lots of beer. Ravel’s Bolero. African tribal chants. Oysters. Fertility idols. A Wonder Woman costume. Nothing tripped his trigger.”
“You must’ve had some…intimate relations prior to marriage.”
“He faked interest for a while, but it’s pretty darn clear at this point that he’s…I’m not even sure what. A member of the LGBTQ community? Which is fine with me. Everyone should feel free to be who they truly are. But I don’t understand why in this day and age someone would fake being straight when they’re not.”
“Has your husband acknowledged this?’
“No. Frank is so deep in the closet you’d need a telescope to find him.”
“Did you try any…scientific approaches to fertility?”
“Yes. But he has a low sperm count and apparently what little he has isn’t worth much.” She paused. “Which brought me to the bathroom at Dick’s Drive-In.”
The witness, Marcia Greenburg, was Kenzi’s client, so she knew all this was coming. That didn’t make it any less startling when she heard it spoken out loud. Marcia was from a prominent Seattle family and had an excellent job—but she chose her work better than she did her lovers. She couldn’t believe Marcia’s underperforming husband wanted exclusive custody of the child he played no role in creating. Divorce was hard enough without people playing stupid games for spite.
“I wanted a child of my own,” Marcia continued. “Is that so much to ask? I considered asking a friend to…you know…be the sperm donor, but I was afraid that would lead to parenting battles down the line. Frozen sperm was an option but I didn’t want a donor I knew little about. I considered everything, but at the end of the day…”
“Dick’s Drive-In?”
“Exactly. Seemed like the best option.”
Kenzi flipped back her black hair. She favored a side shave cut, buzzed on the left, flipped from the part to shoulder-length on the right. She couldn’t wear blue jeans in the courtroom, but she wore black skinny pants that were basically jeans that didn’t look like jeans, plus a chic gray blouse. Instead of the silly vests some of her female colleagues wore—which always made her think of Will Smith in The Wild Wild West—she rocked a black leather jacket, same shade as her hair. And sensible shoes. Always. She didn’t need heels to be imposing.
“Can you describe the steps that led you to Dick’s Drive-In?”
“Sure. I work for Amazon. There’s this guy in the office I like. I mean, not in a sexual way, but he’s cool with that. He offered to be my donor. He’s smart, cute, gentle—perfect. So I agreed. He signed a contract relinquishing parental rights. He’s married, but he and his wife decided not to have children, and I think he regrets that. He wanted this to be discreet, so we met at the Dick’s Drive-In near the Space Needle. He brought me his sample in a coffee cup. I think he did the deed in the men’s room. I knew that stuff was fragile and I was ovulating, so I took my turkey baster into the bathroom and got the job done right then and there.” She paused. “And then I got a burger. I was famished. Went to my car and laid on my back with my feet in the air for about an hour. That’s supposed to help.”
“And the end result?”
“Nine months later, I got a beautiful baby boy.”
“Did your husband approve of this?”
“I didn’t even tell him about it till I was starting to show.”
“What was his reaction?”
“Unhappy. He called it adultery, though I reminded him that I had never had sex with the father. He got all pissy and refused to have anything to do with the child.”
“Then why would he seek custody?”
“To punish me. He doesn’t like David and David doesn’t like him. He’d be happier if he were rid of both of us. But some people can’t appreciate a blessing when they get it. Like children on a playground, they act out of anger and malice—”
“Objection.” Horace Jennings, counsel for the hubby, rose. “This has stopped being factual testimony and become personal invective.”
“I disagree,” Kenzi said. “The witness is entitled to explain what this marriage was really like.”
Judge Cornwall looked as if he might speak but instead let out a ferocious sneeze. He glanced at his clerk.
Kenzi had been around long enough to interpret those signs. Judge Cornwall was new to the bench and still on training wheels. That fake sneeze was a cry for help.
His clerk gave him an ever-so-subtle nod.
“That objection will be sustained,” the judge said. “Are we about done here?”
“Yes, your honor.” No point in arguing with the clerk’s ruling. She knew who was running this courtroom. She made a mental note. Next time she came to court, bring that clerk some chocolates. It might be inappropriate to bring gifts to a judge, but buttering up a clerk was always fair game.
Kenzi helped her client out of the stand and escorted her back to the table.
Jennings called the husband, Frank Greenburg, to the stand. According to him, Marcia was a drunk, a tyrant, and a sexual reprobate. He chose not to have sex with her, or to have children with her, because he disapproved of her lifestyle choices.
Kenzi didn’t care about any of that. She knew that in the modern divorce world, mudslinging and namecalling rarely garnered much attention from the court. Judges expected that nonsense and ignored it. Divorce cases were primarily about dividing assets, and since the split was fifty-fifty with few exceptions, these smear attacks were irrelevant.
Unless there were children involved.
When Kenzi had a chance to cross-examine, she wasted no time. “Mr. Greenburg, isn’t it true that you met your wife through an online dating service?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Isn’t it true that you posted a photograph that wasn’t even you?”
“That’s common.”
“It’s called catfishing. Using a fake identity to attract unsuspecting victims.”
“That’s absurd.” Greenburg was slender, pale, nervous. Of course, most witnesses were a little nervous. Testifying was an unsettling experience. “A guy has to protect himself. You don’t know who might be out there.”
“That’s for sure. You sent romantic texts to my client, didn’t you? Even before you met her face-to-face.”
“I liked her.”
“Before you met her?”
“Yes. I could tell she was smart. Intelligent. Well-read. When we finally met in person, it was at a bookstore. She works at Amazon. She’s a Kingdom fan. I thought she was perfect.”
“And you almost immediately asked her for money.”
“I did have a short-term financial problem…”
“You asked her for money three times in the first three months. You borrowed over twenty thousand dollars.”
“I was building a business. For our future. By the time she made the last contribution, my business was launched and we were engaged.”
“Did you marry out of love? Or because you needed her cash?”
“I find that question offensive. Everything she gave to me, she gave voluntarily.” Sadly, Kenzi knew that was probably true. Online dating sites had become a treasure trove for scam artists. Sometimes they claimed there was a crisis or emergency situation. Sometimes they claimed they were in the military overseas—an excuse for why they couldn’t meet in person. Kenzi had seen these cases arise again and again. According to the FTC, there were about 21,000 cases of these so-called romance scams each year, costing Americans over thirty-three million dollars annually.
“How much return did Marcia see on her investment?”
Greenburg’s head lowered. “My business was…not the success I had hoped.”
“Because it was a fraud from the get-go?”
“No. It just…didn’t work out.”
“I don’t think you ever tried. I think it was a front. I think you banked the money somewhere secret. Or paid off pre-existing debts.”
“That’s a flat-out lie.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Though it gave her one more reason to intensely dislike the man. “You continued to take money from Marcia after you were married. And now you want out. Fine. What offends me is this ridiculous effort to take custody of the child you played no part in bringing into the world. Are you after child support payments? Is that your game?”
“Marcia is dangerously unstable.” His expression became grave. “David is not safe with her.”
Of course, he would have to say that. Normally, Seattle courts—probably all courts—favored the mother in custody cases, and since he wasn’t even a biological parent, he didn’t have much chance of shutting her out. Unless he could prove it was not in the child’s best interests to be left with his mother.
“She’s got a nasty temper,” he continued. “Loud. Violent. You haven’t seen her when she’s mad. There were times when I was in fear for my life. And for David’s.”
“Bull.”
Jennings rose. “Objection, your honor. I don’t believe that’s a question.”
Judge Cornwall nodded. Apparently he could handle this one on his own. “Less commentary, Ms. Rivera. More questioning.”
Kenzi continued. “If Marcia was so violent, why didn’t you call the police?”
“I was trying to hold the family together. I kept hoping Marcia would calm down and we could have a happy family life. But she never did.”
“Marcia says you’ve never given David the time of day. This custody grab is just another scam.”
“That’s not true.”
“So you genuinely care about David?”
“Absolutely.”
“And you’ve been a big part of his eight years of life?”
“Definitely.”
“What’s his middle name?”
The pause was prolonged, and that suited Kenzi just fine.
“His…what now?”
“His middle name. What is it?”
Frank craned his neck. “Oh…jeez. Tip of my tongue...”
Jennings rose, obviously trying to bail his client out. “Your honor—what is this, Jeopardy? Trivia questions don’t prove anything.”
The judge squinted. “I’ll allow it. The witness will respond.”
“Middle name.” Frank shifted his weight from one side to the other. “My memory isn’t as good as it used to be. I can’t remember.”
“Does David like to play Pokemon Go?”
“Uh…yeah. He loves it.”
“That’s odd. Does he have a cellphone?”
“Well…no.”
“Then how can he play Pokemon Go? It’s a phone app.”
“Uhh…maybe I’m thinking of something else…”
She was on a roll. Did she dare push it further?
Of course she did. “When’s David’s birthday?”
Frank shook his head. “It’s…in the summer. We had a party a few months ago.”
“Which you failed to attend.”
“We spent time together after the party. We’re very close.”
“So close you can’t remember his middle name or his birthday. Can you identify any of David’s friends?”
“Does he have friends?”
“Who does he have lunch with at school?”
“I assume it varies…”
“Can you name any of his teachers?”
“They change so often…”
“Have you ever attended a parent-teacher conference?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Scamming people on social media?”
Jennings rose. “Your honor, that’s uncalled for.”
Kenzi addressed the judge. “What’s uncalled for, your honor, is this pitiful, grasping attempt to take custody of a child he barely knows. Imagine what life would be like for David if this man got custody.”
The judge pursed his lips. “There would be no more birthday parties, that’s for certain.”
“Your honor, I move to dismiss the petition for custody on grounds—”
The judge raised his hand. “You don’t even have to say it, counsel. We'll divide the marital estate fairly. I think some deductions for the business loans the wife gave her husband might be in order. And there is no chance I’m turning this child over to someone who doesn’t know his full name.”
Jennings protested. “Your honor, we have other witnesses who—”
“I can’t stop you from calling witnesses, counsel, but I warn you, I don’t like people who waste my time.”
“That’s not fair. You don’t know what the other witnesses might say.” Jennings seemed distraught and desperate. “The truth is, the court is playing favorites.”
“No, sir. The truth is, your opponent did her homework and came to court prepared. Your opponent saw the truth of the matter and revealed it, which is what officers of the court are supposed to do.” He turned his head. “Anything more, Ms. Rivera?”
“Not at all, your honor. If we’re done here, we’re going to grab David and go celebrate.” She winked. “At the nearest Dick’s Drive-In.”