Stone Barrington 06-11

the judge’s chambers. There was too much happening this morning over which he had no control, and he didn’t like it.
    They had been sitting in the empty courtroom A for ten minutes, when a balding man in his mid-thirties came in.
    “Are you Stone Barrington?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m Fred Williamson.”
    “Hello, Fred. This is Mrs. Manning.”
    “Don’t call me that,” Liz snapped.
    “Everybody’s going to call you that today, Liz. Just get used to it.”
    Williamson shook her hand as if he were afraid she might bite it.
    “I want to speak to Ginsky before we go into chambers,” Stone said.
    “Why?” Williamson asked. “I think we’ve got all our ducks in a row.” He took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and handed them to Stone. “I’ve taken the liberty of making a few changes so that they more closely follow the Florida form.”
    Stone flipped quickly through the papers. Ten minutes to three. Where the hell was Ed Ginsky and his client? “They look fine to me, but everybody will have to sign again. We’ll need a notary.”
    “The judge’s clerk can notarize them,” Williamson said. “I’ve also written the decree for his signature. Judge Coronado is leaving on vacation today, and I don’t want to have to wait for his signature.”
    “Neither do I,” Stone said. He was looking forward to seeing Paul Manning’s face at last, and he wished to hell the man would arrive.
    At one minute before three, Ed Ginsky and his client strolled into the courtroom. Paul Manning looked like hell. He was wearing bandages that covered his nose and much of his face, and at the edges, both his eyes seemed blackened. Surgery, Stone thought as he stood up. He and Ginsky shook hands. “I’m glad you’re here, Ed. I want to …”
    At that moment a door behind the bench opened and a solidly built, handsome Hispanic man stepped into the courtroom. His hair was completely white, and he was not wearing a jacket but sporting loud braces. “Everybody here, Fred?”
    “Yes, Judge. All present and accounted for.” He shepherded everyone into the chambers and made the introductions. Coronado waved them all to chairs.
    “Now,” the judge said, “you have a request, Fred?”
    “Yes, Judge. We’re here in the matter of a divorce between Paul C. Manning and Allison S. Manning. Mr. Manning is represented by Mr. Ginsky, and I am representing Mrs. Manning, with the consultation of Mr. Barrington, who is a member of the New York bar and Mrs. Manning’s attorney in that state.” He handed the judge a stack of documents. “The parties have agreed on a property settlement. Mrs. Manning’s petition and Mr. Manning’s waiver of response are all in order. We ask for a decree based on their mutual desire for a divorce.”
    The judge glanced through the papers, then returned them to his desktop and leaned back in his chair.
    “Mr. Manning, are you a legal resident of the State of Florida?”
    “Yes, Your Honor,” Manning replied.
    Ed Ginsky offered a sheet of paper. “Judge, this is a copy of Mr. Manning’s declaration of residency, filed at the Dade County courthouse two and a half years ago.”
    “This seems to be in order.” The judge turned to Liz. “Mrs. Manning, are you a legal resident of the State of Florida?”
    “Yes, Your Honor, for three years. I own a house in Palm Beach.”
    The judge nodded. “Mrs. Manning, Mr. Manning, you’re both obviously mature adults. Mrs. Manning, is it your desire to end your marriage?”
    “Yes, Your Honor,” Liz replied.
    “Mr. Manning?”
    “Yes, Your Honor.”
    “Are you both completely satisfied with the terms of the property settlement on my desk? Mrs. Manning?”
    “Yes, I am, Your Honor.”
    “Mr. Manning?”
    “Yes, Your Honor.”
    “I would certainly assume that you are satisfied, since you are receiving a settlement of two million dollars. Mrs. Manning, does that sum represent a part of your net worth that you can afford to part with?”
    “It does, Your Honor.”
    Especially since she isn’t parting with it, Stone thought.
    “Has any duress been brought upon you to part with such a sum?”
    “No, Your Honor,” Liz replied.
    “Very well, then, I …” The judge stopped and looked oddly at Liz. “I beg your pardon, but have we met before, Mrs. Manning?”
    “No, Your Honor,” Liz replied. “I think I would remember,” she added, flatteringly.
    “Wait a minute,” the judge said. “Aren’t you Winston Harding’s widow?”
    Uh-oh,