My father waited for the judge to finish speaking.
Then he looked down at the phone in his hand.
"I understand that any information I provide must be considered according to the court's rules," he said. "I'm asking for the opportunity to explain what happened."
The judge nodded.
"Go ahead, but be specific."
Dad took a breath.
"Three days before Brian was supposed to surrender the house, he contacted me. He wanted me to speak to Nicole privately and persuade her to reconsider certain things."
Brian shook his head slightly.
His attorney leaned toward him and whispered something.
I couldn't take my eyes off Dad.
Why hadn't he told me?
Why had he waited until now?
Dad continued.
"Brian believed I might be able to convince my daughter to make an agreement outside the courtroom."
The judge asked what sort of agreement he meant.
Dad glanced toward Brian.
"He wanted her to give up some of what the court had awarded her."
I felt my stomach tighten.
The house.
The settlement.
The mirror.
There had been so many arguments over those things that I couldn't tell which one my father meant.
"Which part of the agreement?" the judge asked.
Dad looked at the phone again.
"That was one of the things he discussed with me. But there was another matter."
Brian's attorney rose.
"Your Honor, I object to a witness introducing an unspecified private conversation without first establishing its relevance."
The judge looked at him.
"Your objection is noted. Let him identify the subject of the conversation before we determine what can be considered."
The attorney sat down, but he did not look satisfied.
Brian leaned closer to him.
I watched their exchange.
Brian was speaking quickly now, his mouth barely moving.
His attorney listened without responding.
Then he looked at my father again.
For the first time, I wondered whether he knew what was coming.
Dad turned toward the judge.
"Brian told me something about his financial situation that doesn't match what his attorney has just described."
The room seemed to become smaller.
His financial situation.
That was what Brian's lawyer had been talking about all morning.
I looked at the papers in front of Brian.
His hands were resting on them, but his fingers had curled around the edges.
Dad continued.
"I didn't tell Nicole about this conversation because I wanted to understand exactly what Brian was asking me to do before I said anything that might interfere with her case."
I felt a flash of hurt.
"You could have told me," I whispered.
Dad heard me.
He turned his head just enough to meet my eyes.
"I know."
That was all he said.
It wasn't an excuse.
It wasn't a defense.
Somehow, that made it harder to be angry with him.
I looked back toward the judge.
"What did Brian tell you?" she asked.
Dad held the phone up slightly.
"He gave me information about money and property that he didn't want Nicole to know about."
Brian's attorney stood again.
"Your Honor, we need to know what evidence he intends to present. A vague allegation about an unrecorded conversation cannot establish anything."
The judge agreed that the information would need to be identified and supported.
Dad lowered his phone.
"I have the record of our conversation."
Brian moved so abruptly that his chair scraped against the floor.
His attorney caught his sleeve and whispered urgently.
Brian sat back down.
I had never seen him lose control of his composure so quickly.
The sound of the chair seemed to linger in my ears.
Dad looked at the judge.
"I saved the messages from before we spoke, and I recorded the conversation afterward."
I stared at him.
He had recorded Brian?
I had no idea.
My father had always been careful with technology, but he wasn't someone who recorded every conversation or kept elaborate files on people.
He paid his bills on time.
He kept old family photographs in labeled envelopes.
He saved receipts for major purchases.
That was the extent of the record keeping I knew about.
Now he was standing in a courtroom with evidence of a conversation he had never told me about.
The judge asked whether the recording had been preserved in its original form.
Dad answered that it had.
She then asked about the messages.
He explained that he still had them on his phone.
Brian's attorney objected again, arguing that the court should not consider the material until its authenticity and relevance could be properly examined.
The judge did not immediately rule on the objection.
Instead, she asked Dad to describe what the messages concerned.
He did.
Brian had contacted him because he wanted help persuading me to make concessions.
He had presented himself as someone who was being squeezed financially by the divorce.
But the conversation had included information that raised questions about whether that account was complete.
I wanted Dad to say more.
He didn't.
He answered the judge's questions and waited.
That restraint was familiar.
It was also maddening.
I had spent months being forced to explain myself while Brian sat across from me and said as little as possible.
Now my father seemed to have something important, and I had to wait for the court to decide whether it could even be discussed.
Claire leaned toward me.
"Let him finish."
I nodded.
The judge asked Brian's attorney whether his client disputed having contacted my father.
The attorney requested a moment to consult with Brian.
They spoke quietly.
Brian looked at the table.
Then his attorney faced the judge.
"We have not yet had the opportunity to review the material being referenced. My client cannot respond to an allegation without knowing precisely what is being presented."
The judge acknowledged that concern.
She told Dad to provide the material through the proper process and directed the lawyers to address the evidentiary questions before the court relied on it.
I understood that this was how legal proceedings worked.
Still, I wanted the truth immediately.
Dad returned to his seat.
He placed his phone on his knee and rested his hands over it.
I leaned toward him.
"What did he tell you?"
He looked at me.
"I can't explain all of it while the lawyers are still sorting out what can be presented."
"Is it about the house?"
"Partly."
"Partly?"
Dad looked toward the front of the courtroom.
"Nicole, I promise you that I'm not here to make things harder for you."
I wanted to believe him.
I did believe him.
But I was beginning to understand that there was more to my divorce than the arguments I had heard in court.
For months, I had thought Brian wanted the house because he couldn't bear to lose something we had built together.
I had thought the fight over the mirror was another example of his need to control the outcome.
I had thought his financial arguments were simply another way to make the settlement less favorable to me.
Now I wondered whether those things were connected.
The judge called for a brief pause while the attorneys addressed the new material.
Claire gathered our papers.
Dad remained seated.
Brian was speaking to his lawyer again, but this time his movements were less controlled.
He kept glancing toward my father.
I watched him do it.
He had spent months looking at me as if I were the unreasonable one.
Now he couldn't seem to look away from the man sitting beside me.
And I knew one thing with certainty.
Brian had not expected my father to speak.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: When Claire Examined the Messages, I Began to Understand Why Brian Had Wanted My Father to Keep Our Conversation Away From Me
I Thought Winning the House Meant I Could Finally Breathe, Until I Opened the Front Door and Heard Water Running
Part 5 of 8
