Chapter 5 - The Legal Counter-Attack
Two days after my phone call with Marcus Vance, my mother and I sat in a sleek, modern conference room on the twelfth floor of an office building in downtown Indianapolis. Across the mahogany table sat Sarah Jenkins, the attorney Marcus had recommended.
Sarah was a sharp, formidable lawyer with silver-streaked hair, a tailored navy suit, and an expression that meant business. She had reviewed the emergency eviction notice Franklin had filed, as well as the police report from St. Vincent Medical Center, and the financial records my mother had managed to pull together.
“Your stepfather is playing a very aggressive, very stupid game,” Sarah said, sliding a folder of printed documents toward us. “By filing an emergency eviction while he is currently incarcerated on felony domestic assault charges, he has essentially handed us a silver platter in family court.”
“Can he really throw us out of our own home?” my mother asked anxiously, clutching her handbag. “The house was purchased after we married, though his name is primary on the mortgage.”
“In the state of Indiana, marital property acquired during the marriage—regardless of whose name is on the primary deed—is subject to equitable division,” Sarah explained calmly. “Furthermore, because of the domestic violence charges and the protective order we are filing today, a judge will almost certainly grant you exclusive occupancy of the residence pendant lite—meaning during the pendency of the divorce proceedings. Franklin won’t be coming back within five hundred feet of this house, let alone evicting you.”
Sarah then looked directly at me. “And regarding the assault at the hospital, the Marion County Prosecutor’s office is upgrading the charges to a Level 6 felony due to aggravating factors: the victim was a vulnerable patient recovering from major abdominal surgery, and the attack took place inside a healthcare facility.”
I nodded slowly, feeling a deep sense of vindication. Franklin’s arrogance had blinded him to the consequences of his actions. He had assumed his bullying tactics would work forever, never realizing that oppression eventually reaches a breaking point where the structure collapses entirely under its own weight.
“What do we need to do next, Ms. Jenkins?” I asked.
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“Two things,” Sarah replied, leaning forward. “First, your mother needs to sign these retainer documents—which, per my arrangement with Marcus Vance, are being handled on a contingency and pro bono advisory basis for the time being. Second, Leo, you need to focus entirely on your recovery and preparing for your new role at the warehouse. Let the legal system handle Franklin.”
Leaving the law firm that afternoon, the Indianapolis skyline looked different. The grey, oppressive clouds that had hung over us for two years seemed to have cleared away, replaced by a crisp, bright spring afternoon. My mother walked with her head held high, a small smile playing on her lips—the first genuine smile I had seen from her in years.
