Marianne could see a muscle in his jaw jumping, all the way from her seat. “No, Your Honor.”
“Then let’s move on from this. The witnesses stand.”
Luke flipped to another page. “Even if the will was, in fact, written by Mr. Windmere in 1969, I have records from that period which bring his mental competence into question.”
“Medical records are private,” objected Lila. “I have to object to that, Your Honor.”
“Not if they’re notes on a legal matter,” responded Luke.
“What’s he talking about?” Marianne whispered to Lila.
“I’m not sure yet,” Lila admitted.
A tap-tapping fingernails-on-wood sound behind her made Marianne turn in her seat. Kevin was leaning up to the railing, and she bent closer.
“That fourth of July,” he whispered. “I think that’s where he’s going with this.”
“Oh, my god,” said Marianne. “You’re right.”
“I have the transcript here of a police interview with Mr. Windmere in July of 1970,” Luke was saying. “He admitted to hallucinating gunshots and attacking a man walking by his storefront.”
“That’s not what happened!” Marianne said, forgetting the instructions not to speak. “The guy surprised a veteran in the middle of a fireworks display. He was fine!”
“Ms. Windmere,” said the judge sternly. “Please refrain from interrupting the plaintiff.”
Marianne slowly sat, face hot, as Luke turned a small smile her direction. She didn’t meet his eyes.
“As I was saying, Your Honor, Daniel Windmere was not in a sound state of mind in 1969.”
“What’s your evidence of that?” Judge Petit narrowed her eyes. “Many veterans struggle with some form of post-traumatic stress disorder, Mr. Leventi. I’m going to need more than one fireworks-related outburst to prove him non compos mentis.”
Luke shuffled his papers. “He spent a night at Medfield State Hospital in 1970, after his wife reported him a danger to himself.”
Marianne closed her eyes. She remembered that night as clearly as if it were last month, not fifty years ago. And she knew Luke remembered it too. His father had been there, arguing with her father, taking his gun from him. Luke had been there, hiding with her in her room. Her dad had come back from Vietnam scared and angry, and she remembered Luke—a few years younger than her, not more than seven or so at the time—had asked her if their dads were going to hurt each other. She’d assured him they weren’t even though she wasn’t sure herself. She opened her eyes and stared at the man that scared little boy had grown into.
“You have proof of that, I assume?”
“I was present when he was taken there,” Luke said. He didn’t look at Marianne this time.
The judge sighed. “Do you have a date?”
“August 28th,” he said promptly.
“So nearly a year after the will was written and witnessed.”
Luke didn’t respond.
“Mr. Leventi, you’re grasping at straws. Unless you have anything more substantial, I’m going to have to declare the will valid.” Judge Petit waited a moment, and when Luke didn’t answer, she stamped the page. “I can’t see any merit in the challenge.” She glanced up at the clock and frowned. “Now, is that all the business here today?”
“No, Your Honor.” Luke stood, clearing his throat. “I would like to file a claim of Adverse Possession on 121 Main Street, suite B, on the grounds that Ms. Windmere neglected to take possession of the property while my tenants and I occupied it openly and hostilely from 1990 to 2010. And I have witnesses.”
“That’s a serious charge, Mr. Leventi.”
Lila pushed herself upright. “Objection. We were not informed of any witnesses today.”
The judge sighed, “Mr. Leventi, are you adding additional witnesses to the docket today?”
“I am not, Your Honor.”
“Then, Ms. Shapiro, let’s let Mr. Leventi continue and see where he’s going with this.”
Lila sat back down. Marianne’s stomach did a nervous flip. Behind her, she heard fabric rustle and the low tones of Rana and Kevin’s voices whispering.
“As I was saying,” said Luke, “Ms. Windmere showed no interest in claiming the property at suite B. I merely decided not to let the place fall into disrepair when it could be used since Ms. Windmere ignored her responsibility to the building.”
“Objection,” said Lila again.
“Keep it to the facts, Mr. Leventi. Speculation doesn’t help your case.”
Marianne thought that may be less than true. She should have done more research; she told herself again. How could she have assumed everything was fine? Maybe Luke was right. Maybe she didn’t deserve the building.
A hand patted her shoulder, and she turned to see Rana leaning over the rail. “What?” she asked, resisting the urge to cover the hand with her own.
“We all know he’s lying,” Rana whispered. “Just…if you were wondering.”
Marianne felt a slow smile spread over her face. “Thanks,” she whispered back.
“Besides,” Lila was continuing. “Ms. Windmere was not aware of her ownership of the property.”
“That’s not relevant,” protested Luke.
“Are you a judge, Mr. Leventi?” asked Judge Petit. She paused. “Let the record reflect that Mr. Leventi is shaking his head, please.”
Luke glowered.
“Back to the question at hand.” Judge Petit lowered her glasses to peer at Marianne over them. “Ms. Windmere, is this true? Did you not enter the property for over twenty years?”
“Don’t answer that,” said Kevin quietly. “Let your lawyer answer.”
Lila stood. “My client can’t say whether or not she entered the premises of 121B during that time, Your Honor. She doesn’t typically record her every moment for posterity.” She turned toward the other table. “Does the plaintiff have any proof she did not?”
“That’s a good question,” said the Judge. “Well, Mr. Leventi?”
Luke stood. Gathering a folder, he brought it up to the bench. Lila stood and took the second folder he passed through the bailiff.
He smiled, and the sudden moment of glee faded as quickly as it had arrived. “I do, Your Honor.” He opened a folder, revealing a thick stack of papers. “I have notarized statements from each tenant in the period under discussion, swearing that Ms. Windmere did not enter their storefronts during their tenures.”
“May we have a brief recess to consider this new information?” asked Lila. “My client and I need to review these statements.”
“Ten minutes, Ms. Shapiro,” said the judge.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Lila, and flipped open the folder, twisting to face Marianne. “What do you think? Are these true?”
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Marianne confessed, anxiety roiling in her stomach. “What does he need to know that for?”
Lila sighed and ran a hand through her long, curly hair before twisting it back up and pinning it with a clip. “Adverse possession. It’s a stupid, leftover law from before the days of computerized records. It means if somebody squats somewhere for long enough, they can take ownership of it legally.”
“What? That doesn’t make sense! You’re saying because I didn’t know I owned it, I might lose it?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Marianne. I had no idea he was planning this. We’re going to have to play it by ear, okay?”
Marianne swallowed hard, glancing back at their friends, watching worriedly from the gallery. Kevin leaned forward. “He’s trying a hell of a hard sell,” he reassured her. “And even if we lose, he just gets to keep the part of the building we already believed he owned.” He smiled faintly. “And I have to admit, you’ve got a great lawyer.”
“He’s not going to win,” said Zeke, and Rana and Joe nodded. “It’s your damn building, boss.”
Lila closed the folder. “All right
,” she said. “Time’s up.” She looked at Marianne and then at Rana behind them. “We’re going to do our best, okay?”
Judge Petit rapped her gavel. “Folks, let’s get back to business. Ms. Shapiro, have you and your client reviewed the documents?”
Lila stood. “We have, Your Honor.”
“And have you reached any conclusions?”
Kevin leaned over the rail, whispering, “She’s getting fed up with this trial.”
Marianne ignored him.
“We agree on the possibility that Ms. Windmere did not enter the property but contest the claim of adverse possession on other grounds.”
“What grounds are those, Ms. Shapiro?” The judge crossed her arms.
“The will we’ve just established is valid, Your Honor.” Lila picked up the document. “Mr. Windmere states that Mr. Leventi’s father is to be granted conservatorship over the entire property, including the space now known as suite B. By authorizing this, he states an implicit invitation to Simon Leventi and his heirs to enter both properties. Any invitation, as Mr. Leventi surely knows, invalidates any claim of adverse possession.”
“Interesting. Mr. Leventi? Rebuttal?”
Luke stood. “I am not my father,” he said. “While my father may have been issued an invitation, I was not. When both my father and Daniel Windmere passed away, the invitation implied in the will was rendered no longer relevant.”
“But your sworn statements cover the period from 1990 to 2010,” said Lila. “Your father ran the business you claim as your own for part of that time, and it does not include the last nine years.” She turned to the judge. “I move to remove the statements covering the period from 1990 to 1994 from the evidence.”
“That seems in line with what Mr. Leventi is claiming. The statements from Mr. Phan, Mr. Carlisle, and Ms. L’Esperance are out.”
“That still leaves all these years of sworn statements, under my tenure,” said Luke.
“Ms. Windmere has entered the property recently,” said Lila. “In the last six months, she has entered suite B nine times.”
“You have proof of this?” asked the judge.
“Ms. Rana Wahbi, the proprietor of the Cairo Grill, will swear to it, as can numerous other customers of both establishments.”
“Ms. Shapiro did not furnish a list of witnesses to this,” said Luke, crossing his arms.
“Ms. Shapiro was not informed you were going to be opening what is essentially a whole new suit,” chided the judge. “As you are well aware. I’ll allow the witness.” She looked back to Lila. “Will you need time to find this witness?”
“She’s in the courtroom already,” said Lila. She turned and whispered something to Rana, who had gone a little pale, but who nodded. “And she’s willing to testify to that effect.”
“Well, we’re in luck. Any objection to Ms. Wahbi testifying, Mr. Leventi?”
“Yes,” said Luke. “Ms. Wahbi is known to be romantically involved with Ms. Windmere, rendering any testimony she may give questionable.”
“That’s why we swear people in, Mr. Leventi. Trust the process.”
“Ms. Wahbi isn’t a Christian,” said Luke. “You can’t swear a Muslim in on a Bible.”
“Luckily, in this country we have a division of church and state.” Judge Petit said, reaching under her desk. “Ms. Wahbi, do you have a preference? We have a number of Qurans available. As well as Torahs, Gitas, and the Constitution.”
Rana stood and cleared her throat. “No preference, Your Honor. Any Quran will do.”
“And will you be prejudiced toward Ms. Windmere, or will you tell the truth once sworn in?”
“I try to always tell the truth, Your Honor, sworn in or not. But today I will swear to it, yes,” said Rana, and someone behind Marianne—she suspected Zeke—muffled a snort.
“As we all should be truthful in all our dealings. Please come to the witness stand, Ms. Wahbi. Thank you.”
As Rana was sworn in, Marianne tried to calm her racing heart. Luke thought she and Rana were romantically involved? What did Rana think of that? Marianne knew rumors had been swirling about them—it wasn’t so big of a town, after all—but to have it stated so openly and boldly was a little shocking. This was New England. She had assumed Luke knew you weren’t supposed to talk about these things in public. Besides, it wasn’t true. It might have been briefly, but now? Now she didn’t know where they stood.
Rana settled into the witness stand, and Lila walked over to her. “Ms. Wahbi, has Ms. Windmere been to the Cairo Grill?”
Rana smiled and glanced at Marianne, the pallor fading from her cheeks and replaced with a deeper tint. “Yes. She has. She’s eaten many meals in the past few months.”
“And you and she are socially acquainted beyond the bounds of neighbors, are you not?”
“We are,” said Rana.
“How long have you been friendly?”
“Since November,” Rana replied. “Well, we’ve been neighbors longer, but that’s how long we’ve been friends.”
Warmth sparked in Marianne’s chest at the comment.
“And you frequently dine together, either in your restaurant or in Ms. Windmere’s property?”
“We do.”
“No further questions,” said Lila.
“Mr. Leventi, your witness,” said Judge Petit.
Luke stood. “Ms. Wahbi, is it true you’ve run the Cairo Grill for six months in 121 Main Street, Suite B?”
“Yes,” said Rana. “I had hoped to run it for longer, but I’ve been told my lease will not be renewed.”
“That’s unfortunate,” said Luke.
“I wish you’d thought that before sending me the letter that terminated my lease,” replied Rana.
“Stick to answering the questions, Ms. Wahbi,” said the judge.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor. Yes. Six months.”
“And in the six months, isn’t it true you became romantically entangled with Ms. Windmere, your neighbor and the defendant in this case?”
Rana hesitated, glancing at Marianne again, who felt her face turning a deep shade of pink. “We’re close friends,” said Rana.
“And lovers?”
Rana opened her mouth to reply just as Lila said, “Objection!”
Rana closed her mouth, and Marianne relaxed a bit, heart thudding. She both wanted to know how Rana had been about to answer and didn’t want to know. Schroedinger’s romantic declaration.
“You’ve already ruled their relationship, whatever form it takes, isn’t relevant to this trial.”
“Sustained. Mr. Leventi, wrap it up.”
A muscle twitched in Luke’s jaw as he ground his teeth. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
“All right. Ms. Wahbi, you’re done. Thank you.”
Rana walked back to the gate and settled beside Zeke and Joe, avoiding Marianne’s eyes. Marianne swallowed hard.
“I’d like to call Marianne Windmere to the stand,” said Luke.
The judge frowned. “I suppose you can do that,” she said. “Ms. Windmere, please come up to the front. What would you like to be sworn in on? A Bible? The Constitution? As I wasn’t notified of your being called, I wasn’t able to research your particular belief system.”
“The Constitution will be fine,” said Marianne. “Thank you.”
The chair in the witness stand was still a little warm, and Marianne didn’t care if it was a little weird to take comfort from Rana’s residual heat.
“Now, Ms. Windmere, your father passed away in 1982; is that correct?”
“You know it is. Yes.”
“And you refused to take control of his business? You were too busy?”
“I left it in your father’s hands—yes—to maintain while I finished school and had my first two children.”
“But you had stated no interest in taking over the business, is that correct?”
“No. I always knew I would take it over someday.”
“But you didn’t want to?”
Marianne hesitated. “I was not as excited about it as I could have been,” she said carefully.
“And isn’t it true you were relieved when Simon Leventi took over the day-to-day running of the business while sending you most of the profits?”
“I was grateful to your father—yes—before I knew he had lied about parts of the business.”
“What parts were those?”
“He lowered the quality of some of our goods, using inferior ingredients, and laid off a number of longtime staff in favor of newer employees.”
“But you didn’t visit or look closely at the records?”
“I did when I realized the business was in danger of failing.”
“But suite B was never a concern of yours?”
“It was once I came home and found our business had been cut in half, and there were strangers in our building.”
“But you never looked into the sale.”
“Not until now. I was busy recovering the business from neglect.”
“And when you removed my father from control over your business, did your profits improve?”
“Not right away. I had to rehire my old staff and rebuild our reputation with less space and equipment while raising three children. What was your father doing in suite B? Didn’t the first three businesses he tried to put in there fail?”
“Well, yes, but—” Luke hedged.
“And didn’t my business win Swanley Business Council’s Business of the Year Award four years after nearly closing down?”
“It did—”
Marianne leaned forward. “And didn’t your father nearly drive my business into the ground and then buy part of it to try to recover some of the profits by becoming a slumlord?”
“That’s not true! When my father bought the property—” Luke’s face had reddened, and his mouth slammed closed. He swallowed. “I misspoke. When my father took possession of the property, he improved the location substantially, both through renovation and good management.”
“Mr. Leventi.” The judge slid her glasses off, letting them dangle around her neck. “This is an interesting development. It would appear to me that you didn’t misspeak.”
“Your Honor?”
She crossed her arms. “Tonya, would you read back the transcript?”
No Parking Page 18