“I believe if I don’t avenge you
It will come to you somewhere else.
I believe if you try to trap me.
You will fall in the hole yourself.
My heart is a broken engine
But my blood is running clean.”
~ “Superior Machine” Threshold
After informing Mac of the hearing date, he directed me to inform the court he wouldn’t be available and that he would let Claudine Courtney know—surprisingly she approved it in advance without complaint.
A few days before the trial, I worked on obtaining evidence for the upcoming hearing. Claudine Courtney would undoubtedly attempt obtaining the second order on the merit of the first, therefore providing evidence of political corruption was needed to combat their attack. This was no hairbrained conspiracy theory after stumbling upon the business relationship Jackson Caiaphas had with the City Prosecutor of Long Beach. It seemed Donald Holbert and his wife knew Jackson and Anya, likely through her volunteer work at the Cancer Society—the real reason behind Anya’s “philanthropy”—all for business purposes. Anya warned me she had “people” and now those she gleaned through her volunteerism paid dividends in driving me to accepting a diversion deal for uncommitted violations of the restraining order. Although rarely seen these days, after spotting a pay phone, I made a call to the Long Beach City Prosecutor’s office, easily patching myself in to Donald Holbert’s direct line.
“Hey Don, Jackson Caiaphas here. Give me a call when you can. Seven-one-four-two-nine-three-forty-three-eighty-three. Talk to you soon.” I spoke into the receiver, imitating Jackson’s shrill voice to the best of my ability while leaving a message before hanging up.
A few days later, a voicemail received on my mobile phone from an unknown number hinted that my message reached its intended.
“I know what you’re up to. I’m watching your every move.” claimed the disguised voice, the ending of the call punctuated by a loud click.
Only six seconds long, the message spoke volumes—not taking a rocket scientist to know the source was undeniably, Jackson Caiaphas, likely receiving a call directly from Donald Holbert.
Now having a feel for how the legal game is played—how silence is viewed as truth, I looked for to this second round. After receiving Jackson’s threat and saving it to my voicemail, for further measure, I visited the Caiaphas Property Group’s webpage noticing a significant tenant was now missing from its home page—the City Prosecutor of Long Beach. Although still having no real proof of their involvement, their removal from the website promoting their tenancy, while others remained, brought credence to their involvement in colluding to destroy my life—and Mac needed to know.
“They what now?” He asked.
“They removed The City Prosecutor of Long Beach as one of their valued tenants on their company’s webpage, Mac.” I informed him more succinctly. “Can we use that as evidence of their suspected involvement? You have the screenshot I sent you of when they were listed as a tenant.”
“Are they still a tenant?” He asked.
“I believe so, why would they suddenly move? We can confirm that during the hearing.” I told him without telling him about my call from the pay phone. “Removing them from the website suggests their implication, don’t you think? If they didn’t move, why else would they remove them from as a tenant from the website?”
“We can pose that question to them.” He told me then cleared his throat.
“Are you under the weather?” I asked.
“Nah, just allergies.” He replied. “Just that time of year.”
“Mac, should I make a list of questions to ask them? I asked. “I really need to win this.”
“Landyn, this is a nothing burger—you’re going to win. They have nothing here. You never contacted them. They read something on a website. This is not a restraining order type case.” He reassured me. “Maybe libel? But their request for another restraining order has no leg to stand on.”
“Ok.” I told him, feeling even more redeemed. “I’m not worried about libel; I state it’s a fictional story on the webpage and I put a disclaimer regarding the dedications. I’m just defending myself here—nothing more. I did not make any knowingly false statements. To my knowledge and belief, everything I wrote in the dedications was true.”
“I wouldn’t worry about this second restraining order. I’ll talk to Claudine Courtney this week and we’ll get something worked out. I’m sure she knows how ridiculous all this is.”
After speaking with Mac, I felt much better about my prospects this time around. Just the chance to be finally heard and without drugs hindering my ability to think and communicate clearly would make all the difference.
When the trial date arrived, a day an agreed upon in advance continuance would be granted because of Mac’s unavailability, there was no anxiousness, uneasiness or nervousness felt. Expecting it to be an uneventful court day without Anya or Jackson’s presence, I went to bed late and woke up groggy. Lacking the time to grab a cup of coffee before arriving at the courthouse, it felt like I slept walked during the pat down before advancing through the courthouse’s security system. While riding the courthouse’s escalator to the second floor my mind was beyond dazed and focused on catching up on my missed sleep after this court appearance. Upon reaching the second floor, the sun glared brightly off the large courtroom windows, blinding me.
While approaching the courtroom I straightened my tie out, making sure it was tucked neatly within my new suit—believing my attire last time may have contributed to the restraining order being granted in some way. Before I could look up from the white marble tiled floors, the growing stomp of approaching footsteps peaked.
“What’s goin’ on mother fucker?” boomed Jackson, my face nearly bumping into his collarbone. “You got somethin’ to say now, mother fucker?”
Taking a step away from Jackson to create space between us and to refocus, I fully expected a push, a swing from him or perhaps to even to feel a bullet go through me. Jackson knew in this court house he could easily get away with murder—certain Donald Holbert would help him in creating a non-threat into one. His wrinkled face bore a sun deep crimson and the look in his wild bushy browed eyes suggested he may have been on drugs. As he continued to yell, I put my hands in the air and continued to back away—I knew exactly what he wanted and if I decked him he would have it. His ambush caught me complete surprise, not allowing me the opportunity to tell him all the things I wrote in his dedication to his face. I looked around the courtroom and not one person saw this—making this seem like the perfect set-up, angering me to know I wasn’t ready for it when I should’ve expected nothing less.
“What? You have nothing to say to me now?” He yelled, coming closer.
“You’re a real big man in a courthouse, Jackson.” I told him. “I wonder why.”
“I’ll take you on anytime, anyplace, anywhere!” He yelled again. “Let’s fight.”
“That’s what you want because I know all about your political friends now. I know Don Holbert is a friend of yours.” I told him. “I know all about your political corruption and you’re not getting away with it this time---and you know it!”
“There’s no political corruption!”
“Why’d you remove the City Prosecutor of Long Beach from your website then?” I yelled. “You removed it because you got him involved you fuckin’ creep! All you’re doin’ is comin’ at me with lies, not the truth! Well, the truth is here now, you philanderin’ piece of shit!”
“You’re the piece of shit home wrecker!”
As he took another step towards me, in a suit far too tight for him, he clenched his fist but before he could throw a punch, Claudine Courtney emerged from the anteroom, lunging at his arm to start pulling him away from me. I had a clean shot at Jackson, my clenched right hand poised to snap his neck so quick it would knock him completely out. As I tightened my bicep and fortified my wrist, I contemplating taking the wide open shot so he could atone for all his evil, but it carried far too vicious intentions and possible deathly consequences—if he hit the back of his head on the cold hard marble floor, I could be guilty of something far worse than writing the truth of his life for the world to see. Fifteen seconds later, Claudine successfully tugged the maniacal Jackson away, not allowing him to prove his psychopathic tendencies any further. The fire he directed at me is what I held inside in a much darker sense because I had far much less to lose than he did. Truth be told, what I wrote in the dedications was done to inspire this kind of reaction from him—although his ambush caught me by surprise, this is exactly what I wanted him to feel—the same rage I felt over the last five years trying to provoke me into breaking the restraining order. Although I didn’t hurt him physically, it was validating to know I drove him upon the edge of absolute madness with my dedications—appearing to inflict far worse damage than a punch ever could. Jackson had been served with a bit of poetic justice—apparently his conversation with Donald Holbert did not go over well. I know Donald Holbert was lied to but he should’ve never trusted Jackson to begin with, let alone weaponize his office against me. The threat to Jackson’s image and political career was internal more than it was external. Instead of choosing the truth to defeat and quiet me, he chose defamation—a man with zero character accusing me of lacking it. I’m guilty of making a bad decision in trusting someone with my life—a defect of believing in love, not of character.
Amazingly, and maybe not so if this was planned, there were no witnesses to the incident, not one person waiting outside the courtroom for their case to be heard on the entire floor. The only witnesses were Claudine, Jackson and myself. The only anger I felt was not once considering breaking out my cell phone to memorialize Jackson’s erratic behavior. It happened so fast I didn’t think of it, but vowing to have it on the ready if he tries any more ill-advised stunts. I could only imagine Anya in the anteroom shaking her head over the whole thing, unable to reel her master in. I’m sure she and Claudine advised against it, but Jackson was paying her to do his bidding—their opinions didn’t matter. His behavior only proved this entire second restraining order had no legs to stand on because he knew it. How was it possible for him to get a stay away order, on requiring at the very least being contacted by me? I never sent an email blast letting them know or letting anyone else know about the dedications—they were sought out. There have also been no threats made to their physical safety so no credible fear for their physical safety existed—other than they dream up in their heads. Jackson’s outburst all but assured this case would soon be dismissed or even settled before it reached a judge. Mac was right—they had no chance of winning this—especially now knowing the players involved and an attorney to defend me this time around.
Minutes after Jackson’s assault and near battery efforts outside the doors of the courtroom, we were then called to sit inside. Jackson and Anya took seats in the back row on the right side of the courtroom after seeing me sitting on the opposite side. Trying to further provoke me, Jackson intentionally took the nearest seat to me as possible. Peering over, Anya fumbled through her purse while her psychopathic husband’s eyes were trained on me like a falcon. Remembering all of his prior provocations, I took my left hand and placed it under my chin then removing all my fingers except the middle one before scratching the side of my left cheek with it.
“You fuckin’ son of a bitch.” He muttered before standing up.
I rose without stopping my “itch”, making sure he knew what I thought of him using lies instead of the truth in attempting to destroy me. Anya, then took her shining black heels, stomping them against the floor to scold Jackson, leaving me in absolute shock—the first time she called out his childish behavior befitting of a five year old. After her show of disgust, using the silent “fuck you” gesture was sinking myself down to his level, immediately dropping it from my chin then sitting back down, even as Jackson continued to stare, never heeding Anya’s heeled reprimand. From that moment on I refused to feed the falcon, removing myself to the front of the courtroom and away from them. As they conversed loudly enough for me to hear, I tuned them both out—another attempt by the “victims” to antagonize me. On three separate occasions, Jackson rose from his seat and paced the room angrily behind me, a desperate effort to get me to respond but held my ground—if he succeeded my side of the story would never be told. Six years ago when the restraining order was granted, his provocations on this day would’ve worked, but now, being off the drugs, dressed in a new suit and with my emotions in better check, I didn’t want to jeopardize losing the opportunity to bury him the way he tried to bury me. After the pain and suffering I endured for the last six years, the truth had finally caught up to him and he knew it. The only difference in our battle plan was me being armed with the truth while he came with an arsenal of lies, or at the very minimum, half-truths.
Jackson painted himself as the “good guy”, the loving husband and devoted father fighting for his family. The only angle he had for justifying his behavior, but unfortunately for him there was another side to the story—that he wasn’t the loving husband people thought he was. Most men in my situation would’ve never taken the precautions I took before dating Anya—they would’ve had an affair with her without falling or having intentions of the heart. My fateful decision was only made based on the information she provided I trusted was accurate about the man she married—that he was the furthest thing from a family man or a loving husband. That she was only there because no one would be there for her if she were to leave. That she believed no man would accept her and her kids. That she wasn’t there for the money. That it wasn’t a marriage but a situation. This hearing gave me the chance to learn the truth—to learn who Anya really was, if she was never all she led me to believe in.
Jackson mentioned in his letter to my father “who knows what is true or not” but the truth clearly matters because of where we stood today. His antics on this day clearly showed he lost his marbles—on the verge of both defeat and embarrassment. Although he fell woefully short as a husband, wrecking him as a father was not my goal or wish, but he had no problem wrecking Anya as a mother after she crossed him—aiming to prove her as immoral and unfit. But, if she did love me, how was it immoral after her husband chipped away her heart for years by disrespecting and dishonoring her? Jackson broke his wedding vows before Anya even considered it, and if it was truly in the name of love, where’s the real immorality? In the legal sense, without being officially divorced, an argument could be made but in the eyes of God was she immoral? And what about those women with nowhere to go and no one to turn to who stay with their married abusers because they are fearful? If Anya did not love me, and she only wanted some private time with another man without kids being around, then she was immoral in the eyes of God. but after all we shared, all the things that were said, I just couldn’t fully believe that. After six long years, these questions I could only hope would ne answered. This hearing wasn’t just about holding Jackson accountable, but also reconciling who Anya was—if her love for me was born on sacred ground.
For twenty minutes Jackson paced about the courtroom behind me while I looked behind me only to ascertain if I needed to avoid a bullet meant for me. There was no doubt he could’ve walked inside this courthouse unchecked with the power of Donald Holbert behind him. If he believed I was a monster, and wanted to keep his kids believing that lie, on this day I walked into the lion’s den. When the judge finally appeared, Claudine Courtney suddenly and mysteriously appeared back inside, taking a seat next to Anya before Jackson joined them. After the judge officially acknowledged the continuance and reset the trial date for a month later, Jackson and Anya abruptly left the courtroom together. To get the continuance, I had to have some paperwork processed downstairs, further leaving me open to Jackson’s provocations. Upon reaching the room without incident, I got in line behind three people. While waiting in line to have this done, Claudine Courtney approached me from out of nowhere.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
“How do we make this go away, Mr. Lastman?” She asked in a low tone hoping to avoid attracting attention from those standing in line, seemingly exasperated.
“Can we at this point?” I asked. “Your client filed for a restraining order against me instead of talking to me. Instead of being truthful, they drove me to defend myself from their lies about me. After the craziness today you think this can go away?”
“If you’re willing to take down the dedications maybe we can move on without going through this.” She conceded.
“I’m not taking those down, Claudine.” I told her, feeling confident they were up against the ropes. “I want my side of the story heard—I had that chance stolen from me six years ago.”
“Nothing illegal happened six years ago…” she countered.
“Oh yes, it was illegal.” I quickly interjected. “Lies were told about me so the most offensive tenets, especially kidnapping and trespassing, could be met to obtain the most severe restraining order available.”
Claudine looked at me in disbelief yet unable to shake her head knowing the truth.
“I was the only one in a fifty-two week domestic violence class who never laid a finger on his girlfriend. This is all coming out of the wash now—especially after the letter Jackson sent to my father and clients.”
“What letter?”
“Jackson sent a letter to my father and clients along with the emails I sent to Debbie.” I told her. “He didn’t disclose that to you?”
“No, he didn’t. As opposing counsel, you must provide me with all evidence you have in your possession.”
“I’ll give you a copy of his letter at the hearing.” I told her. “I don’t have it with me now.”
“So how do we make this go away?” She inquired again.
“I don’t know…your client is out of control. They’re trying to get a restraining order without me contacting them. They are cyberstalking me yet are calling me the stalker. Why don’t they try suing me for libel or slander instead of filing for a restraining order if what I’m writing isn’t true? I’ll even agree to us all being hooked both up to lie detectors by an independent party. It’ll be fun for you and your clients! But, they’ll never agree to that because they’re lying about me. Why don’t you go back to them with that offer and see what they say. Then we’ll get to some real truth—what we should be seeking in a courtroom before a judge.”
“They didn’t cyberstalk you.”
“Then how did they learn about the dedications and the novel?” I asked, amused. “They had to Google it. I even used a pen name instead of my real name.”
“Have you ever heard of Google alerts?”
“Is that the same as regular Google?”
“You set it up using certain words and if any of those words appear on the internet, Google will alert you to it.”
“I don’t understand, I’m technologically impaired.” I admitted.
“For instance, when you used Jackson’s full name, Google alerted him to it. When you used Anya’s name, Google alerted him to it. And when you used the name of their kids…”
“I see.” I replied, nodding before looking away unaware of what Claudine just brought to light.
Being more focused on my own name not showing up on search engines, I protected it by using an alias, and the name of the novel, I never considered using the names of Anya and Jackson within the dedication and not in its title, would allow them to come up on search engines, believing only those who knew the name of my novel or my fictitious author’s name would be able to see. When Claudine informed me the kids were compromised, the redemption I felt through the dedications suddenly lost its luster.
“Would you at least be willing to remove the dedications to their children?” She politely asked. “It would give me a little more leverage trying to talk some sense into them.”
“I can do that.” I told her without hesitation. “I will do that. Your client is losing his mind if he’s setting up Google alerts. Don’t you think he’s a little out of line here especially after his behavior before the judge appeared?”
Courtney shook her head. “I know.”
“You don’t have an easy job.” I told her.
“There were some other postings we found online.” She informed me.
“Really?” I asked. “Other than the dedications?”
“Yes, they came from a newspaper chat site of some kind.”
“If I google their names will that come up?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, well I didn’t post anything other than the dedications about them so I’ll locate those and try to remove those too.”
It was the first real moment I had with Claudine after she called me one night years ago. Talking with her seemed to be a breakthrough moment—how she was beginning to see I wasn’t the monster Jackson created. But Anya could also be pushing the monster narrative as well? The lengths Jackson went to “protect” his family, the one he cheated on, were outrageous just because of the lies being said about me. It felt good to know, it at least seemed, Claudine was beginning to see it as well—she had better cases to work on than this one. Removing the dedication to their kids gave me no pause—their dedication reaching Jackson’s eyes was good enough for me. If he wanted to harbor his kids from the truth, then he should’ve realized sending a letter to my father would provoke me, a clearly broken man, into wanting him to feel the same anger—those dedications more than providing him with the tang of his own medicine. Every right in the world existed to defend my honor regardless, especially if the kids ever believed they were in any danger from me—let alone having any delusional plans to kidnap them. There are ways to protect your kids and family, but creating monsters who do no exist is not how it’s done. It felt good to know he felt a part of the anger I’ve felt for the last five years. Knowing how hard he struggled to keep it together on this day proved how much of a stronger man I was.
After talking with Claudine, I went home that evening and deleted the dedications to Katie and Andrew. As a further act of goodwill, I also deleted Judicial Officer Teri Shamm’s, Donald Holbert’s and Anya’s dedication opting to leave Jackson’s up for the time being. A few days later, I decided to delete his as well. My message got across to them loud and clear—the dedications serving their purpose by providing the chance I never received six years earlier, the opportunity to tell my side of the story. A part of me hoped her kids read the dedications just so they knew they had nothing to fear from me and knew why I existed in their mother’s life. The garbage I wrote about their father, although it was true, I hoped never reached their eyes. My beef was with Jackson as Anya’s husband, nothing more and nothing less, and I needed to justify the decision I made to be a willing participant. I have a great respect for all relationships and never wanted to hurt another person because I’ve been that guy before who got unjustly hurt. All Anya told me about Jackson had to be true because of what she allowed me to participate in. I would never dream of coming into the middle of someone’s marriage and Anya knew that from day one. I asked her very pointed questions even asking what I needed to do for her to leave him otherwise I would’ve never chosen to get in the middle, especially of another man’s marriage, but Anya convinced me into believing I was doing a noble thing, even characterizing our love as “pure” and “true”—a love specially reserved for soulmates. If it was for anything less than that, based on just a physical attraction, as greatly as I was attracted to her, I would’ve never entertained the thought. There was no denying though, the great satisfaction of knowing that getting so easily under Jackson’s skin after all his provocations was sweet justice. In the end, there were no real winners.
A month later, on the date of the rescheduled hearing, Mac was given prior notice Jackson and Anya needed a continuance. We had no objections so another uneventful day at the courthouse awaited me without Mac. Again, there were no people cases being heard on our floor, another quiet day. Spotting Claudine Courtney sitting in the courtroom upon entering, I approached with a copy of Jackson’s letter.
“Good morning, Claudine.” I greeted her before handing her a copy of the letter. “Per your request.”
“Good morning.” She replied. “Thank you.”
“In case you didn’t check, I also removed all of the dedications from the website.” I told her. “I also had the online postings you brought to my attention removed as well.”
“Thanks for doing that. Mrs. Caiaphas was thankful.”
“Well, good.” I nodded, a bit surprised she told me that—removing them was the right thing to do at this point. “I’ve talked with my attorney letting him know I removed the dedications so hopefully you can discuss with him where we move from here. I’m sure you’d rather deal with him than me.”
“I’ll contact him.” She told me.
After talking with Claudine and engaging with her on a less emotional level, she appeared to be seeing my side to the story after witnessing her client’s behavior first hand. It was good to know Anya appreciated my removal of the dedications but it should’ve never come to this. My side of the story, although untold in a courtroom, was at least now known in some form and Jackson got to taste a bit of what he tried dishing out. After the judge granted us another continuance, the hearing now pushed back another two months, I exited the courtroom and sat down to listen to a voice mail left by my father. With the phone to my ear, waiting for his message to end, I saw Claudine exit the courtroom with Anya walking beside her. To see her surprised me—why wasn’t she in the courtroom? I didn’t know what to make of it, but couldn’t stop from fantasizing about a secret hope she held to reconcile herself—so I no longer had to. As she walked by, it brought me back in time to Katie’s recital, when seeing her at the booth selling t-shirts before the show, how excited she was to see me. For a moment, for the longest time without having an opiate in my system, it brought me back to when I felt her love. Bringing me back to the time she told me “I love you so much it hurts”. What hurts, babe? All this time, without an explanation—assuming it was a positive for us being at the very heart of the truth—she had to leave Jackson. And know, she wasn’t leaving her children behind by doing so. Why else would it hurt so much?
When Mac called me a week prior to the hearing date, I anticipated hearing how the hearing would no longer be taking place after removing the dedications.
“How you holding up these days. Landyn?”
“Haven’t felt this good in years, Mac.” I told him. “Have you talked to Claudine Courtney?”
“Yes, I did.” He acknowledged, before clearing his throat. “Looks like she can’t convince her client to drop the restraining order request. Did you remove the dedications?”
“I did several weeks ago.” I told him.
“They are telling her you put them back up again.”
“That’s not true. I do still post chapters to the novel I’m writing—maybe that’s what they’re seeing? I took down all the dedications.” I explained. “Why would they want to go through with it at this point?”
“This so ridiculous, Landyn. The request for a restraining order has no merit. I don’t know how a judge can even rule on this. You never contacted them.”
“I know!” I laughed seeing the absurdity of it all. “I don’t see how this can even be heard. If we do have a hearing, we have to vet the judge—I don’t trust any of the judges in this courthouse because of the City Prosecutor of Long Beach. The only reason they would still consider pursuing this is if they had a judge in place who’s willing to do their bidding. Maybe that’s why they asked for the continuance?”
“I wouldn’t worry Landyn. This is a sure win for you. The request for a restraining order has no legs to stand on.” He assured me, assertively.
“Thank you for that, Mac.” I replied. “I can do away with the list of questions I had for them.”
“Did you seriously put a list together?” Mac hooted.
“I did just in case but…”
“You won’t need it, Landyn. We won’t need it. The restraining order has no legal standing.”
“You know, Anya was at the courthouse for the continuance.” I informed Mac. “Did she need to be there?”
“Not at all.” Replied Mac. “She was there, huh?”
“Yeah, I thought it was kind of strange.”
“She didn’t have to be there.” He restated.
“I wasn’t sure, but didn’t think she needed to be. Thanks for confirming.”
After our phone conversation and learning Anya didn’t have to be there, it felt good to think maybe she showed up hoping to smooth and talk things over, but my mind wouldn’t allow me to hold on to that belief—she was likely there because her husband told her to be there. After all, his money held her puppet strings. If I had known money his money was her master, I would’ve stopped talking to her, instead she told me an entirely different story sealing my fate.
On the day of the hearing, a day anything could happen including its dismissal, I grabbed the turquoise Tiffany pouch with the necklace inside—just in case anything did happen.
When I met Mac, he spoke to me in the anteroom briefly coaching me to show no emotions and to let him do the talking.
“I’m going to ask for another continuance.” He told me. “I have an emergency—I’ll request it from the judge.”
“Oh boy, this isn’t gonna set well with Jackson.” I replied.
“You think he’s going to accost you again?”
“He just might.” I told him. “and I’m not in the mood for it.”
“Just let me handle it.” He reassured me. “I’m here today. He won’t be able to get away with that shit with me here—he knew he could get away with it without any witnesses.”
Just at that moment, Jackson and Anya appeared with Claudine Courtney standing at the doors of the courtroom. As soon as Jackson saw me, he stopped to stare me down, apparently believing Mac hadn’t arrived yet. At that moment, I motioned to Mac.
“They’re here and he’s already up to his old tricks.” I told Mac, motioning with a head tilt.
“I’ll be right back, stay right here.” Mac told me before walking towards them.
When Mac reached them, he shook hands with Claudine and then began conversing with Anya and Jackson, ending his attempts at provocation. A minute later, Mac was back at my side.
“I told them I was asking for a continuance in consideration of a deposition and asked if they had any dates they might be available for that.”
“This might be a stupid question, but what’s a deposition?”
“It’s a setting where we get to ask them questions before the hearing.” He told me. “They’re pretty costly—would run you about five thousand dollars…but I don’t think we’ll need it. I just wanted to give them something to think about.”
“I have the money for a deposition—cost is not a factor.” I told Mac. “Based on the history of their prior courtroom etiquette, they will lie about me again—I guarantee it. They don’t fear perjury or repercussions of doing so. The judge will protect them by not seeking the truth.”
“You’re going to win this, Landyn.” Mac told me. “It’s an unnecessary cost to you.”
“But I think we can make this easier and catch them in a lie with a deposition, don’t you think?” I countered. “If we depose them and they give an inconsistent answer during the hearing with what they provided during the deposition, couldn’t we prove to the court they’re lying?”
“They have the incentive to lie, Landyn. The judge will see that.”
“They had an incentive to lie last time and looked what happened?” I explained to Mac. “The judge overlooked the situation—instead judging me for my response to the order ignoring all the lies and half-truths she told.”
“Did you send a response to this particular restraining order?” he asked.
“Are you kidding? No way!”
“You’re going to be just fine, Landyn.” He said. “As long as you keep your emotions in check, there’s no way we can lose—we won’t need a deposition.”
I nodded. “Okay, I trust your judgment, Mac.”
Mac instructed me to sit outside the courtroom while he went inside to request the continuance from the judge—I didn’t need to be present. He felt removing me from the same area Anya and Jackson was a positive thing to show the court. While waiting, Jackson suddenly appeared to take a sip from the water fountain next to where I was sitting.
“Oh, we’re going to sue you for all the lies you wrote about us.” He told me after taking a sip. “We’re going to sue you for slander.”
I nodded. “Do it. I didn’t write anything that was knowingly false—only repeating what your wife told me about you.”
“I’m going to own you, Mr. Lastman.” He reiterated.
“Even if you won, Jackson. I promise you this much.” I told him. “You’d never see a dime.”
“I’m gonna wreck your life you miserable prick.” He told me.
When he said this, it dawned on me to pick up my phone and to video his provocations. I’m old school—never thinking I had a device to capture evidence of his antics. If I had this on video, I could prove to the court he was the aggressor.
After quickly pulling the phone from my pocket, I aimed it at right at Jackson’s mug, engaging the camera function then pressing the round red button to start recording—my first time using this feature.
“You got anything else to say, Mister Jackson Caiaphas?” I posed, the camera directly upon him.
After realizing his fatal error, he muttered something and scurried away like the greasy rat he was.
After Mac requested and we were granted another continuance, a new trial date was set without any plan for a deposition to take place. I then informed Mac of the incident and that I had it on my phone. After requesting to see it, I tried to play it for him but the video never recorded properly, losing a chance at providing evidence of his violent behavior to the court. After this unfortunate failure, I reiterated to Mac that I was more than willing to pay the cost of a deposition if it provided us with a way to catch them in a lie, or to at least be able to properly defend myself against them during a hearing—if we knew what their game plan was. A deposition would provide us with a glimpse into their strategy so we could properly defend against it. I trusted Mac’s judgment though and my emotions were not as raw as they were over five years earlier. I had an attorney this time around and the truth was on my side—how could I not feel confident about winning this? Then again, Jackson and Anya had powerful people in their corner, and other than Donald Holbert, I had no idea who else was willing to believe and protect their lies about me. All they had to do was paint me as family killer and the powerful would only assume their friends had no role in the matter. One thing was certain, after this trial was all said and done I’d likely be acutely aware of who Anya really was.
On the day of the hearing after leaving my phone in my car, I raced back outside the courthouse but on the way, Jackson and Anya were entering. When he saw me, he stuck his tongue out at me. While he stood next to Anya, I watched her not admonish her sixty plus going on five year old husband, allowing him to do as he pleased. All I could do was shake my head and continue on my way to retrieve my phone feeling confident that after today his show for the folks was coming to an end—the façade of their marriage would no longer fool anyone else.