Light filtered into the courtroom from the high windows, reflecting off of the polished wooden benches and engraved accents on the podium in front of the judge. Seated behind that podium, adorned in her black robe, the judge was an older lady with thick glasses perched on a hawkish nose and curly gray hair. The glare she projected down her nose and over the top of her glasses silently broadcast the message “I don’t put up with any shit.” A typical scene that anybody would face in the courtroom of Judge Elizabeth McGraw. Her glare from above her horn-rimmed glasses was directed at the divorce lawyer sitting on the plaintiff’s side of the bench.
On the plaintiff’s side of the bench sat Allison Jones, the former Mrs. Kovacs, wearing a very expensive designer dress. Her trendy, ginger pixie haircut sat atop a fair skinned brow, glaring over at Kovacs with contempt. Allison, in her late twenties, shot daggers from her blue eyes at her former husband. She had a soft, pleasantly attractive face matching her average body type, not super skinny, not overweight. Her 5’1” frame seemed to be coiled with the explosive energy of a being twice her size. She sat with a pouty look on her face, her bottom lip protruding. She continued to glare, unrelentingly. Her lawyer was a young man, nervous and fidgety. Peter Chopp, Esquire, fresh out of law school and visibly insecure about his capabilities. His glasses straddled over large ears and short blonde hair, with a bit of a fringe of bangs in front. Chopp was obviously uncomfortable, shifting in his seat like he was sitting on a hotplate that was slowly heating.
On the defendant's side of the bench, we have Darius Kovacs. Darius, in his early thirties, was slightly older and had a slightly darker complexion than his ex-wife. His shoulder-length, curly black hair and a beard were neatly trimmed. He sat, looking very calm and collected, wearing a suit equally expensive to his ex-wife’s dress. Next to him sat his lawyer, one Mr. Arthur Almeida. Whereas Mr. Kovacs was Hungarian by genetics, Almeida was of Portuguese descent. Aside from their dissimilar heredity, the two men looked like they could be related, although they weren’t, and that was not the reason that Kovacs gave Almeida the job of representing him in court. Almeida was about ten years older than Kovacs and had similar shoulder length black hair and beard. However, the lawyer's hair was heavily salt and peppered with white hair. He was at least a full foot shorter and 2 skin shades darker than Kovacs. Almeida was hired for his position because he was very experienced and respected. At this moment, Almeida looked very respectable, stern and maybe a little irritated. Almeida also wore an expensive pin-striped, suit.
After a second that seemed like an eternity, the judge was still glaring at the young lawyer representing the plaintiff, the reason being that his inexperience and bumbling was holding things up. Chopp finally gathered his thoughts and spoke.
“So, your honor we believe that it's perfectly fair that my client should have, uh um…her fair share, after seven years of emotional support in a relationship with Mr. Kovacs... um... marriage that uh… she should be entitled to fifty percent of all the sum total of assets owned by Mr. Kovacs, including fifty percent ownership of the family home that they resided in.” Chopp said.
The judge scowled at the young lawyer.
“Mr. Chopp if you don’t have any further information to submit to this court, that we haven’t already heard, do you think you could possibly pull together a closing statement so we can complete this hearing?”
Chopp nervously stammered “W-w-well yes your honor. I’m sorry the um… the uh… the defense um… no, we rest our case your honor.”
Almeida unapologetically rolled his eyes.
The Judge looked over at the defense lawyer and said: “Do you have any response to this request from the plaintiff’s lawyer, Mr. Almeida?”
Almeida responded, “Yes we do your honor. We have a counter offer.”
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