“You’re the plaintiff, you idiot,” Garrison whispered harshly, wiping sweat from his upper lip. “Get up there. And for the love of God, don’t lie. She knows everything.”
Keith walked to the witness stand. His legs felt heavy. He sat down, and the bailiff swore him in. He looked out at the court, trying to regain his composure. He was Keith Simmons. He was a successful businessman. He was the man who made the deals. This old woman was just bluffing.
Catherine walked to the podium. She didn’t bring any papers. She just rested her hands on the wood and looked at him.
“Mr. Simmons,” she began, her voice deceptively light. “Let’s talk about the ‘traffic’ you mentioned earlier. The traffic that delayed my daughter.”
Keith scoffed nervously. “It was a figure of speech. She’s always late. She’s disorganized.”
“Disorganized?” Catherine repeated. “Is that why you handled all the finances in the marriage? Because Grace was too disorganized to understand numbers?”
“Exactly,” Keith said, gaining confidence. “Grace is a dreamer. She paints. She volunteers at the animal shelter. She doesn’t understand ROI or equity positions. I did everything to protect our future.”
“To protect your future?” Catherine nodded. “Is that why you purchased a condo in Miami on March 14th of this year? The one listed under Simmons Holdings LLC?”
Keith blinked. “That… That was an investment property. For the portfolio.”
“Strange,” Catherine said. “Because according to the credit card statements associated with that property—statements you tried to shred, but which your assistant, poor overworked Ms. Higgins, forgot to delete from the digital recycling bin—you bought furniture for a nursery.”
I gasped in the gallery. My hand flew to my mouth.
Keith turned pale. “It… It was staging. For resale value.”
“Staging?” Catherine said, stepping closer. “And the diamond tennis bracelet purchased from Tiffany’s on Fifth Avenue three days later? Was that for staging too? Or was that for the woman living in the condo?”
“Objection!” Garrison Ford stood up, though he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. “Relevance, Your Honor. New York is a no-fault divorce state. Infidelity doesn’t impact the division of assets.”
“It does when marital funds were used to facilitate it,” Judge Henderson ruled, his eyes narrowing at Keith. “Overruled. Answer the question, Mr. Simmons.”
Keith gripped the railing of the witness box. “I… I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Catherine smiled. It was the smile of a predator who tasted blood.
“You don’t? Okay, let’s move on from the mistress for a moment. We’ll circle back to Sasha later.”
Keith flinched at the name.
“Let’s talk about your company, Apex Ventures,” Catherine continued. “You swore in your affidavit that your income last year was four hundred thousand dollars.”
“That’s correct,” Keith said quickly. “The market was down.”
“The market was down,” Catherine mocked. She turned to the jury box—which was empty, as this was a bench trial—then back to the judge. “Your Honor, I have here bank records from the First National Bank of Cyprus. They show a wire transfer of two million dollars entering an account controlled by Apex Ventures on the exact same day Mr. Simmons claimed the market was down.”
She held up a piece of paper.
“And here is the withdrawal slip. Mr. Simmons, can you tell the court what you used that two million dollars for?”
Keith stayed silent. His throat was dry.
“I’ll help you,” Catherine said. “You bought cryptocurrency. Specifically, an untraceable coin that you stored on a cold-storage hard drive. A hard drive that is currently sitting in a safety deposit box at the Grand Central Branch of Chase Bank. Box number 404.”
Keith’s jaw dropped. “How? How did you…”
“I’m Katherine Bennett,” she said simply. “Finding money is what I do. Now, here is the problem, Keith. You didn’t declare that two million. You didn’t declare the crypto. And you certainly didn’t share it with your wife.”
Catherine leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper that carried across the silent room.
“You mocked my daughter for not having a lawyer. You thought she was stupid. But the only stupid thing in this room, Keith, is thinking you could steal two million dollars, hide it in a box, and then parade your girlfriend around Miami while my daughter clipped coupons to buy groceries.”
“I didn’t steal it!” Keith shouted, cracking under the pressure. “It’s my money! I earned it! She just sat at home painting stupid pictures! She didn’t contribute anything! Why should she get half of my genius?”
The courtroom went dead silent.
Judge Henderson looked at Keith with pure disgust.
“Mr. Simmons, did you just admit on the record that the money exists and that you intentionally hid it to prevent your wife from receiving her equitable share?”
Keith looked at the judge, then at Garrison. Garrison had his face buried in his hands.
“I…” Keith stammered.
“No further questions for this witness,” Catherine said, turning her back on him.
She walked back to the table and sat down next to me. I was crying silently. Catherine reached out and took my hand, squeezing it tight.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “He’s done.”
Keith Simmons had just admitted to perjury and fraud in open court. The judge was furious. Garrison Ford, realizing his career was about to implode, stood up.
“Your Honor,” Garrison said, his voice steady. “At this time, I must respectfully move to withdraw as counsel for the plaintiff.”
Keith’s eyes bulged. “What? You can’t quit! I paid you a fifty-thousand-dollar retainer!”
“An ethical conflict has arisen,” Garrison continued, ignoring Keith. “I cannot suborn perjury. Based on the testimony my client just gave, my continued representation would compromise my professional obligations.”
Translation: He lied. He got caught. And I’m not going down with him.
“You coward!” Keith screamed. He lunged at Garrison. “I pay you! You work for me!”
“Bailiff!” Judge Henderson shouted.
Officer Kowalski slammed Keith back into his chair.
“Mr. Ford,” Judge Henderson said. “I am referring the transcript of today’s hearing to the District Attorney’s office for potential charges regarding perjury and wire fraud against your client. Now, let’s finish this.”
The judge issued a temporary ruling immediately.
“First, I am freezing all assets belonging to Keith Simmons. Second, I am awarding Mrs. Simmons immediate, exclusive use of the marital residence on Fifth Avenue and the Hamptons property. Mr. Simmons, you have two hours to vacate. If you remove a single light bulb, I will have you arrested.”
“Third, Mr. Simmons will pay one hundred percent of Mrs. Simmons’ legal fees.”
“Court is adjourned!”
As the room cleared, Keith sat there, stunned. In two hours, he had gone from a multi-millionaire playboy to a potential felon with nowhere to sleep.
I walked out with my mother, feeling lighter than I had in years. But the story wasn’t quite over yet.
As we stepped out onto the courthouse steps, blinking in the bright Manhattan sunlight, a black sedan pulled up. The window rolled down. A man sat in the back seat. He was older, with silver hair and a face carved from granite.
“Dad?” I whispered.
Catherine stiffened. “William.”
“Hello, Catherine,” my father said. “I saw the news. The Iron Gavel returns.” He looked at me. “Grace. It’s been a long time.”
My father. The man who had sided with Keith when we first got married because it was a “good business merger.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I’m here,” William said, opening the car door, “because Keith Simmons owes me money. A lot of money. And I heard you two just took everything he has.”
He stepped out holding a document. “Keith put up the Fifth Avenue penthouse as collateral for a private loan from my firm, Ironclad Capital, six months ago. He defaulted yesterday. That apartment belongs to me.”
I felt the ground shift. Just when I thought I had won, the past came back to haunt me.
“Dad, how could you?” I whispered. “You’re kicking me out?”
“It’s business, Grace,” William said coldly. “I can’t write off a two-million-dollar loss.”
Catherine Bennett didn’t flinch. She stepped closer to William, snatched the document from his hand, and scanned it with laser-like precision.
“Section four, clause B,” Catherine read aloud, her tone mocking. “The borrower certifies that they have sole and unencumbered ownership of the collateral property.“
She looked up at William over the rim of her sunglasses.
“Did you run a title search, William? Or did you just trust the man who calls you ‘Sir’?”
“Keith’s name is on the deed,” William frowned.
“His name is on the copy he showed you,” Catherine corrected. She pulled a blue folder from her bag. “But in 2018, I convinced Keith to transfer the property into a family trust. The bylaws state that using the property as collateral requires the signature of both beneficiaries.”
She pointed to the signature line on William’s document. There was a scrawl that looked like Grace Simmons, but it was shaky.
“He forged it,” I whispered.
“Exactly,” Catherine said. “So, William, you are holding a void contract based on a forged signature. Which means you have no claim on the apartment. And you are out two million dollars.”
William’s face turned gray. “That bastard. He scammed me.”
“He did,” Catherine agreed. “Now, you can walk away and go after Keith personally, or you can try to evict Grace, and I will sue Ironclad Capital for predatory lending. I’ll tie your firm up in litigation for so long your grandchildren will be the ones settling the case.”
William looked at Catherine, then at me. He saw the strength in my jaw—strength I inherited from my mother.
“What do you want?” William asked.
“Apologize to her,” Catherine said. “And then leave.”
William sighed. “Grace… I didn’t know about the forgery. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” I said softly. “You can go now. I have a lunch date with my lawyer.”
William got back in his car and drove away.
Catherine turned to me with a warm, genuine smile. “Well, that’s handled. Now, about that lunch. I believe we have twenty years of catching up to do.”
I wrapped my arms around her. “I missed you, Mom.”
“I missed you too, sweetheart,” she whispered, holding me tight. “I’m not going anywhere this time.”
Three months later, the gallery in Chelsea was packed. The exhibition was titled Rebirth.
I stood in the center of the room wearing a stunning red dress, laughing with a group of art collectors. The centerpiece painting, titled The Gavel, depicted a figure of light breaking through chains of darkness. It had a red dot next to it. Sold.
From the corner, Catherine watched with pride. She checked her phone. A news alert: Disgraced Executive Keith Simmons Sentenced to 5 Years for Wire Fraud.
He had lost everything. The money, the women, the reputation, and his freedom.
Catherine smiled, put her phone away, and walked over to me.
“You’re sold out,” she noted.
“I can’t believe it,” I said. “Mom, thank you. If you hadn’t walked through those doors…”
“You would have found your way eventually,” she said. “You’re stronger than you think, Grace. I just helped you finish the fight.”
Keith Simmons learned the hard way that silence isn’t weakness. It’s just a pause before the reload. He thought he could strip me of my dignity, but he underestimated the unstoppable force of a mother’s love mixed with a top-tier legal degree.
I was no longer the woman in the gray dress. I was Grace Bennett Simmons—artist, survivor, and daughter of the Iron Gavel. And I had a lot of painting left to do.
