Manipulative.
Secretive.
Financially coercive.
Each accusation sounded more ridiculous than the last.
I simply listened.
Years as an accountant teach patience.
Eventually numbers speak louder than emotions.
Then it was Fiona's turn.
She stood calmly.
Opened a folder.
And everything changed.
"Your Honor," she began, "the petitioner argues that Mr. Higgins exercised improper financial influence."
The judge nodded.
Fiona continued.
"We agree that finances are central to this matter."
Chelsea smiled.
Big mistake.
"Therefore," Fiona said, "we have prepared a complete accounting of Mr. Higgins' contributions over the last six years."
The smile disappeared.
A screen lit up behind the courtroom.
Then the numbers appeared.
Mortgage support.
$142,000.
Vehicle guarantees.
$51,000.
Home renovation loans.
$89,000.
Emergency medical assistance.
$17,000.
Educational debt repayment.
$34,000.
Additional undocumented family support.
$76,000.
The total appeared at the bottom.
$409,000.
The courtroom became silent.
Logan looked physically ill.
Chelsea's attorney stopped speaking.
The judge adjusted his glasses.
Fiona wasn't finished.
"These funds were provided voluntarily, documented appropriately, and without compensation."
Another screen appeared.
Signed agreements.
Loan documents.
Bank transfers.
Receipts.
Everything.
Years of records.
Years of evidence.
Years of generosity.
Carefully organized.
Perfectly preserved.
Because accountants document reality.
The judge looked directly at Chelsea.
"Are you disputing these records?"
For the first time since the hearing began, she looked uncertain.
Then Fiona delivered the final blow.
"Furthermore, Your Honor, the petitioner seeks access to assets she believes were concealed."
She turned toward me.
I already knew what was coming.
"Mr. Higgins has agreed to full disclosure."
