Noah's Adventure - 18. The tail of the bounty

The music felt like a warning.

We were swept into the courtroom, and my mother still wore that stupid, self-satisfied grin. Rage burned through me. I wanted nothing more than to wipe that smile off her face.

Her legal team was dressed to the nines—tailored suits, polished shoes, smug expressions. They looked confident. Too confident.

I hoped Grayson and Grace wiped the floor with them.

At precisely 9:00 a.m., the bailiff called the court to order. The Honorable Judge Hopkins entered, rapped his gavel sharply, and took his seat.

As everyone sat, my gaze scanned the room instinctively—searching, hoping, dreading. No sign of Little B.

Then the bailiff caught my eye.

He winked.

My stomach dropped.

For half a second, I thought I was imagining things. Then his lips curved into a familiar smirk—the same one I’d seen a hundred times at family dinners, when he was about to cause trouble.

Little B.

My pulse went wild. I tried to get Grandma’s attention, twisting in my seat, but she was focused forward. Panic surged. I grabbed the notepad and scribbled furiously, sliding it to Grayson.

His eyes widened the instant he read it.

We were forced to sit and listen as my mother’s attorneys painted me as manipulative, unstable—some kind of conniving child who had coerced an elderly woman into rewriting her estate.

I wanted to stand up and scream that it was all lies.

Grayson placed a steady hand on my arm, grounding me. Let Grace work, his look said.

Finally, it was her turn.

As Grace rose, I noticed something else—the judge was smirking too. Subtle. Almost amused.

“Your Honor,” Grace began, her voice calm and authoritative, “the irrevocable trust of Mrs. Evelyn Hanson is unambiguous. Her entire estate is to be awarded to her grandson, Mr. Noah Jacobs Jr. This decision was made ten years ago.”

She paused deliberately.

“Mrs. Hanson was under no legal obligation to leave any portion of her estate to her children or her ex-husband.”

Grace lifted a document.

“She was also fully aware that her children might object. If Your Honor would refer to Exhibit A, page twelve, you’ll see that Mrs. Hanson underwent bi-monthly mental evaluations.”

Judge Hopkins rubbed his temples. “All right,” he said. “Then why exactly was this case moved up so urgently?”

A ripple of chuckles moved through the gallery.

“A five-million-dollar bounty was placed on Mr. Noah Jacobs,” Grace said evenly.

The room went dead silent.

“Five million?” the judge repeated. “And you know who placed it?”

“We do, Your Honor.”

Grace turned slightly back toward the defense table.

“Objection!” opposing counsel shouted. “There is no proof my client placed any bounty—”

“There is,” Grace said smoothly. “All calls placed to federal buildings are recorded and retained.”

“They are?” Judge Hopkins asked, skeptical.

“Your Honor,” Grace continued, “we were provided with a digital copy of a phone call between Mr. Paul Baker and a sitting United States Senator.”

“Objection!” the attorney yelled again.

The judge ignored him.

“This is a dangerous slope, Ms. Watkins,” Judge Hopkins said.

“I agree, Your Honor. Which is why we independently verified the recording’s authenticity. There is no doubt the caller was Mr. Baker—my client’s grandfather.”

A collective gasp swept the courtroom.

“I will need to review this in chambers,” Judge Hopkins said, standing. “Given the… connections of Mr. Jacobs’ grandparents, I find this highly concerning.”

“The source of the recording has agreed to testify, if necessary,” Grace added.

I glanced at Grandpa. He’d slumped back in his chair. Whatever Grace had—it was real.

The judge exited.

We were left in the thick, buzzing silence of the courtroom.

“Grandma,” I whispered urgently, “I think Little B is the bailiff.”

She turned sharply.

Each time she tried to lock eyes with him, the bailiff turned away—too quick, too deliberate.

The courtroom was called back to order. Judge Hopkins returned, his face grim.

“Ms. Watkins,” he said, “while this recording is troubling, how it was obtained raises questions. One could argue wiretapping statutes apply.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Grace said calmly. “Washington D.C. is a one-party consent jurisdiction. California is not. However—”

She paused.

“What if the other party wasn’t in California?”

The judge leaned forward. “Go on.”

“We have verified proof that Mr. Baker was in Colorado at the time of the call. Colorado is also a one-party consent state. The Senator was in Washington D.C. and aware the call was recorded. No consent was required.”

Judge Hopkins exhaled slowly.

“We will recess while I determine admissibility. Court is adjourned until nine a.m. tomorrow.”

The gavel fell.

My mother failed miserably at whispering as she tried to argue with her father. When she stormed past me, she shot me a look full of venom.

“Well,” Grayson muttered, “that was something.”

“How did you get that recording?” I asked.

Grace met my eyes. Not here.

As we headed for the doors, music filled the space again—wrong, taunting.

One way or another, I’m gonna find ya…

I'm gonna get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya

One way, or another, I'm gonna win ya

Grandma locked elbows with me.

Then—

The explosion tore through the courthouse.

Violent. Deafening.

And everything went white.