They descended the courthouse steps together, laughing, patting Grant’s shoulders, calling him a free man. I watched them climb into two black SUVs and drive toward Buckhead, toward Patricia’s favorite steakhouse, toward the victory they thought was already complete. Courts& Judiciary
I got into my attorney’s car instead.
By the time Grant’s family finished their champagne lunch and returned to the Monroe house, the sheriff was already waiting in the driveway.
Their smiles disappeared before the SUVs even stopped.
Patricia’s antique chairs, Grant’s golf clubs, his sisters’ suitcases, and boxes of his mother’s china had been placed neatly along the curb beneath blue moving blankets. A deputy stood near the porch. A locksmith was changing the deadbolt. My attorney stood beside me, holding the signed court order. Pregnancy& Maternity
Grant jumped out first. “What is this?”
Patricia stumbled from the SUV, her face twisting in disbelief. “Why are our things outside?”
The sheriff looked at Grant, then at me.
“Mr. Monroe,” he said evenly, “this property legally belongs to Ms. Allison Monroe.”
Grant went pale.
