Unbreakable (City Lights, #2)(61)

“No, no, I’m quite up to speed,” Alex said, shuffling through some papers until she found the one that she wanted. “And I regret to inform you that Mr. Bishop has no medical bills of any kind.”

Jeffries crossed his arms. “How is that possible?”

“Yes, Ms. Gardener,” the judge said. “Enlighten us.”

“Delighted to,” Alex said. “The good people of this fair city have taken it upon themselves to relieve Mr. Bishop of any financial burden, as thanks for his service and heroics during the recent hostage crisis at United One Bank. The nurses at Cedars-Sinai—working in conjunction with several hostages intimately associated with Mr. Bishop during said hostage crisis—have set up a donation website.” She consulted her paper, smiling brightly, not a care in the world. “As of this morning, donations have exceeded $244,000. More than sufficient to cover any medical bills, which is why I was rather confused by your assertion, Mr. Jeffries, that Mr. Bishop would be unable to continue the child support payments. The same payments he’s been making for the last seven years. Never missing a single one. Not a single one. ”

I swallowed hard and endeavored not to shake my head. Donations? Enough to cover the entire bill? Gratitude and humiliation warred in me, but Alex wasn’t done yet.

“Given these facts, Your Honor, we ask that you deny Ms. Owen’s request for order and continue Mr. Bishop’s visitation with his daughter as previously set down by this court, as there are no circumstances set forth today that would preclude him from his rights as a father. Thank you.”

I stared, dumbfounded, as Alex sat, her back straight, her hands folded in a perfect picture of professionalism. “How…?”

“Sssh,” she whispered. “Or you’ll miss the sound of Jeffries’s ego imploding. Ah…there it is.”

Judge Walker glanced at Jeffries as if he were a bug under his shoe. “You got something better than that?”

“Your Honor…I…”

Georgia shot to her feet. “This is a joke, Your Honor. One dollar to hire her. One dollar to rent a beach house.” She sneered and jabbed a finger at Alex. “That woman’s not Cory’s lawyer. She’s one of the hostages in the bank. And that house he’s supposedly going to live in? That’s hers.”

I swiveled my head at Alex. “Is that true? Your house? I thought you lived with your fiancé.”

Jeffries started to quiet his client but then stopped as the judge leveled an irritated glance at Alex. She hardly blinked an eye—at either him or me.

“I hardly see how that’s relevant, Your Honor,” she said.

“I’m pretty sure that’s up to me to decide.” The judge narrowed his eyes. “Is it true, Ms. Gardener?”

I saw her hands clench for the shortest of moments and then she rose calmly to her feet.

“Yes, Your Honor. It’s true. I was a hostage in that bank along with Mr. Bishop. And the truth of the matter is, I would not be standing here today if it weren’t for him. I had a gun to my head and was one second away from certain death, when his quick-thinking and astonishing bravery saved my life.

“The house on California Avenue is mine, that’s also true. But it is a rental property only, as I now live with my fiancé at another residence. And as the owner of said rental property, it is up to me how much rent I feel is appropriate to charge any prospective tenants. Given Mr. Bishop’s selfless act, I think charging him even one penny is exorbitant. When I learned he was in danger of losing his daughter, I felt the very least I could do was everything in my power to make sure that didn’t happen, up to and including opening my doors to him. There is nothing happening here that is not above-board, Your Honor, if a bit hasty. But given Ms. Owen’s apparent rush to rip the rug out from under the father of her child, expediency and unorthodoxy were necessary.”

She sat back down and I had to look straight ahead, shocked at the hurricane of emotions, one of which was sympathy for Georgia. Despite all, she was just trying to do what she thought best. That sympathy died a quick death, however, at her next words.

Georgia blurted, “He’s on painkillers!”

Alex leaned in to me. “What is she talking about?”

“I have no idea.”

Alex got to her feet. “I’m a bit confused…” she said and it was clear Jeffries was too. “I’m sorry but if Ms. Owen is insinuating that my client is a drug addict, we’d be happy to take a blood test to prove otherwise.”

“No need,” Judge Walker said, disgusted. “I assume, Ms. Gardner, that you have the necessary documents to prove Mr. Bishop’s residency?”

“Right here, Your Honor.” Alex held up the lease agreement. “Hot off the presses.” Murmured laughter came from the clerks, court reporter, the bailiff who came to take them to the bench. Even the judge cracked a smile.

“The inspection will be held at—” Judge Walker studied the papers— “225 California Ave, one week from Monday, eight a.m. sharp.” He set them down and leaned forward. “Just what kind of law do you practice, Ms. Gardener? Not family.”

“No, Your Honor.”

“That’s too bad,” he said. “If I had you in front of my bench every week, I might not be in such a bad mood all the time.” He pointed a finger at her. “That’s a compliment, Ms. Gardener, not a get-out-of-jail-free card for your client. I want to see proof of this donation windfall, a recent pay stub, and a stellar residency inspection report. If I don’t get those things I’m going to assume you’re making a mockery of this Court with some last minute heroics of your own.”