Chapter 4: The Conservatorship Trap
At 8:30 AM on Monday, the fourth-floor corridor of the Hennepin County Courthouse was already lined with Emmett Durham's entourage.
Emmett stood near the double doors of Probate Courtroom 4B, surrounded by three corporate litigators and two private physicians carrying thick, leather-bound medical evaluations. At sixty-two, Emmett was a towering man with iron-gray hair and the heavy, expensive tailoring of a man who owned half the politicians in the state.
When the elevator doors parted and Manuel stepped out with Rosalie on his arm, Emmett's face tightened into a hard, paternal mask.
"Rosalie," Emmett said, stepping forward with his hands extended as if to embrace a fragile child. "Sweetheart, you shouldn't be out in the cold. Dr. Griese has the transport waiting downstairs to take you back to the clinic after we finish the signatures."
Rosalie didn't shrink back. She didn't drop her eyes to the floor the way she had done for twelve years. She stood beside Manuel, her chin raised, the wine-colored birthmark on her cheek exposed to the bright fluorescent lights of the corridor.
"I'm not going back to the clinic, Father," she said.
Emmett's smile didn't reach his cold, pale eyes. He turned to Manuel, his voice dropping into a patronizing growl. "Nelson, I don't know what kind of games you think you're playing, but the wire transfer to clear your sister's student debt is sitting in escrow. It doesn't clear until you sign the conservatorship endorsement on line four."
"I read the endorsement, Emmett," Manuel said smoothly, reaching into his briefcase. "But my attorney suggested we file a different motion this morning."
The courtroom doors swung open, and Arthur Vance walked out into the corridor. He wasn't wearing a basement-lawyer's suit; he wore his old federal prosecutor's robes, his silver hair brushed back, carrying a stack of filings three inches thick.
Emmett's lead litigator, a man named Crawford, froze. "Vance? What the hell are you doing here? You're disbarred."
"I was reinstated by the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals at seven o'clock this morning, Mr. Crawford," Arthur said, smiling coldly. "Based on new evidence of judicial tampering and witness intimidation in the Nelson Enterprises indictment."
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Arthur held up a certified copy of Lorelei's black ledger.
"We aren't here for a conservatorship hearing, Emmett," Arthur announced, loud enough for every reporter gathering at the end of the hall to hear. "We're here for an emergency injunction to freeze every corporate account tied to Durham Timber—and to execute a federal bench warrant for wire fraud, perjury, and the murder of Lorelei Durham."
