Exhibit B

                    POV: Vivienne Ashford

"The court recorder, Marcus Vance, and Damon," Genevieve said. "Vance uploaded the file to the family court docket ten minutes ago. Judge Thorne will have it on his screen the second our two o'clock hearing begins."

I stared at the black-and-white frame on my phone. Roman stood at the threshold of the open iron gates, his arm extended. The matte-black phone sat in his hand. My own hand reached toward it.

"Look at the distance between your knuckles and his," Genevieve said, tapping the glass. "Two inches of empty space. He's handing you an object, not touching you."

"Vance doesn't care about two inches," I said. "He's spinning it as a secret meeting."

"Which is why he's invoking Section 82." She snapped her portfolio shut. "If he convinces Judge Thorne you were in a covert relationship, he can freeze our clawback claim. The five percent stays in Damon's name while the case drags out."

"Can he win that?"

"Not if I tear the photo apart in front of the bench. I'm filing our objection now, with the St. Catherine's records dated last month. Damon got your secretary pregnant while you were living together as husband and wife. A photo of two people near a gate doesn't erase that."

She grabbed her coat. "Stay here. Don't speak to Vance, don't answer Damon's texts, and don't let anyone see that phone."

The door clicked shut behind her. I pulled the matte-black phone from my blazer and hit the only number saved in it.

Roman picked up before the second ring. "Little rabbit."

"Vance has the footage from my camera facing the gates," I said. "He submitted a frame to the court. We have a hearing at two."

"Give me his firm's name and the docket number."

"Why?"

"Because the file will be gone from the court server before noon. And Vance will learn by one o'clock that this lawsuit isn't in his firm's interest."

"No." I stood up behind my desk. "You are not touching Vance, and you are not touching the court records."

"Vivienne—"

"If that file disappears, or Vance drops his motion after a visit from you, he'll say I used syndicate influence to tamper with evidence. That hands Damon everything he needs."

"I don't care what Vance says. I care that he's using my presence to corner you."

"I care. You stood at my gates and said, 'Your gates, your rules.' This is my company and my divorce. I fight it in a courtroom, under the law."

Silence held the line. Then Roman exhaled, slow and deliberate.

"Your gates, your rules. But hear me, little rabbit. If that courtroom pushes you into a corner today, my rules take over."

"I'll see you after the hearing."

I ended the call.

---

At one-fifty-five, the brass doors of Hearing Room 4B swung open.

I walked down the aisle of the Westbridge Family Court with Genevieve at my left. Damon sat at the respondent's table in a tailored gray suit, jaw locked. Beside him, Marcus Vance squared a stack of files edge to edge.

Judge Alistair Thorne sat behind the elevated bench, eyes on his monitor. His silver hair was cut short, and he wore the face of a man who handed down rulings before lunch.

"Good afternoon, counsel," he said without looking up. "We are here on respondent's emergency motion under Section 82, together with petitioner's divorce petition. Mr. Vance, five minutes."

Vance rose and rested his fingertips on the table.

"Thank you, Your Honor. Ms. Ashford seeks to strip my client of his five percent stake in Ashford Technologies for marital breach. But Section 82 voids conditional clawbacks where mutual fault exists before the dissolution order." He nodded toward the monitor. "At midnight last Friday, estate cameras captured Ms. Ashford meeting Don Roman Cavendish at the gates of the marital residence. Exhibit A shows an intimate, covert exchange while my client slept in the west wing."

Judge Thorne pulled up the frame. His eyebrows drew together.

"Ms. Winslow?"

Genevieve stepped to the podium. "Your Honor, Mr. Vance is relying on visual misdirection. The digital scale confirms two inches between Ms. Ashford's hand and Mr. Cavendish's fingers. There is no physical contact. Receiving a phone at one's own gate is not misconduct under Section 82."

She tapped her tablet, and the enlarged gate line filled the court display.

"Meanwhile, Exhibit 1 contains certified records from St. Catherine's General Hospital, dated last month. They show Mr. Pruitt accompanying his pregnant mistress, Miss Camille Rowe, to an obstetric consultation while residing with my client. His breach came long before last Friday."

Vance turned toward our table. "That consultation is an unverified domestic matter, Your Honor, entirely distinct from petitioner's late-night syndicate encounter—"

"A domestic matter that produced a documented pregnancy, Mr. Vance," I cut in, looking him in the eye. "Unlike two inches of empty air at my gate."

"She set me up!" Damon slammed his palm on the table. "She ambushed me at the hospital—"

The gavel cracked. "Mr. Pruitt. One more outburst and I'll hold you in summary contempt. Sit."

Damon yanked at his collar. His chair squealed against the floor as he dropped into it.

Judge Thorne removed his glasses. "Mr. Vance, you're asking me to void a binding shareholder prenup over two inches of air in an infrared frame, while petitioner has produced certified records of your client's adultery."

Vance picked up a slim black folder. "Which is why we submit Exhibit B, under seal."

Genevieve's head snapped toward him. "Your Honor, respondent never served Exhibit B in pre-hearing disclosure."

"It was obtained through a confidential source with access to the club's internal records," Vance said, handing the folder to the bailiff. "It addresses the history between petitioner and Don Cavendish."

The bailiff passed one copy up to the bench and another to Genevieve. She flipped the cover open. Her eyes widened, and the paper creased under her grip.

Judge Thorne scanned the top sheet. His brow furrowed.

The courtroom went dead silent.

He looked up and found me.

"Exhibit B," he read aloud. "Certified private-floor access log, Obsidian Club. Logged camera entry by guest Vivienne Ashford: six-ten p.m., the evening of her St. Catherine's appointment. Logged exit: seven-fifteen a.m. the following morning. Room assigned: Don Roman Cavendish's private suite."                 ."