Mental Toughness Pt. 02

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Brad demonstrates toughness; or is it stupidity.
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Part 2 of the 2 part series

Updated 10/20/2022
Created 07/22/2014
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I was feeling really smug. I had finessed a $150,000 settlement for an alienation of affection suit against Amber's paramour even though such suits are complete bullshit in our state, and hurt him even more where it counted since he had to settle property suits with both of his neighbors. Monday I had had Amber served with divorce papers, and apparently she was devastated. Yeah, I was really smug.

Friday morning the self-satisfied look left my face.

The call from Family Court Judge Susan St. John's chambers rattled me. I thought that I knew all that I needed to know about the relationship between the family court and the criminal court, where I practiced, and the general procedures before family law judges, but that did not include anticipating a call from a judge less than a week after a case was filed. I was acting as my own attorney and suddenly wasn't feeling so sure of myself, so I called up one of my former law school classmates who was practicing family law full time and asked her a few questions. Then I did some more research.

While not the practice everywhere, in my state the family law court is not only completely separate from the criminal court – all the judges, the courthouse, and even the rules are different – but so is the enforcement arm. The family law court deals with the Sheriff's Department. My office deals with the Metropolitan Police. The traditional charity softball game between those two law enforcement branches had to be canceled as of three years ago because the bad blood between them spilled out onto the softball diamond – that will give you an idea of their relationship.

Even though the old adage that "A lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client" has a lot of truth to it, I did not hire someone else because no one else would exhibit the brass balls or mental toughness that I was willing to exhibit – it would jeopardize his or her career, and they simply would have been unwilling to do what I knew needed to be done.

Amber was being represented by Compton, Gerald, and Casey, the biggest, most expensive old fart law firm in the state, not just City X. They were politically connected to almost every legislator on both sides of the isle, the Mayor, and the Governor. Despite Amber's wealth I knew that MegaBank money was behind this – I had a feeling that the president of MegaBank wanted this to go away and Compton, Gerald and Casey were on retainer by MegaBank.

When I entered the courtroom there sat forlorn, beautiful, tastefully dressed, Amber Miller (we both kept our pre-married last names when we wed). She tried, unsuccessfully, to make eye contact with me. The other side had three attorneys – what in the hell they needed three for, I don't know.

Their lead attorney was the head of the Family Law Department at the old fart firm, Jim Casey, the younger brother of one of the name partners. He walked over to me before the Judge arrived and said "Mr. Westin, so glad to meet you, I'm Jim Casey," extending his hand. I wanted him to know from the start what this case was going to be like.

"I know who you are Mr. Casey. If I were here as an attorney I would feel compelled by professional etiquette to shake your hand and engage you in a pleasant conversation. However, I am here as a wronged party in a divorce, cheated upon by my wife who now just wants to save some of her money. As such I decline any attempt at collegiality between us. This will be a street fight unless she capitulates, and I fight dirty." After that little speech I sat down. Casey was frozen in his place for a few seconds before shuffling back to his seat. I do believe that Amber heard me because I heard sniffles from the other side of the aisle, but I didn't look over to confirm.

I started out the hearing by speaking. "Mr. Westin, the request for an emergency hearing was made by Mrs. Miller, not by you, therefore you will have to let them go first," Judge Susan St. John chided me.

"Normally I would respect that, your honor, but I want something clear from the start. I don't want the fees she is paying to have three attorneys from the highest priced law firm in the city wasting her holdings so that when I get the 50% that I am entitled to that the amount has been greatly diminished. I want it understood from the start that it is her holdings as of Monday's date of service – not after she had retained Mr. Casey's law firm – that determines what the pie to be split is."

"Mr. Westin, you're getting way ahead of yourself here. I haven't even decided if there is any need for a divorce, so sit down and let Mr. Casey speak," the judge impatiently said.

I knew right then that the "fix" was in.

Casey made a heartfelt speech about how there was some misunderstanding and that Mrs. Miller had always been a good wife and economically supported her husband and was devastated by this turn of events, and that clearly the Court should not let the marriage dissolve without all attempts possible to save it, and that Mrs. Miller wanted the Court to order counselling and was willing to pay for it from her part of any division of assets that was made if the tragedy of divorce ever occurred.

The judge looked like she was ready to rule. "Wait," I impolitely yelled. "I haven't been heard."

"What is it, Mr. Westin," she impatiently said.

"I don't want counselling, I want out of this marriage, there is no one on earth that is going to convince me not to go through with this divorce; the only question is how much each of us gets. I don't agree to counseling so don't order it," words that an attorney that had to appear before her again would never use.

"I'm the one who makes decisions, not you Mr. Westin. I'm ordering six months of counseling Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, then we'll address the merits if there is any reason to at that time," she barked, and then she banged her gavel.

"Wait one second – I realize that this is a kangaroo court but I have something to say," I said jumping up.

"How dare you, Mr. Westin – do you want a contempt citation?" she snarled.

"If it keeps me out of counselling that would be great. One thing that you have not considered is that I am the DA of this fine city. I prosecute criminals at the behest of and for the protection of its citizens, including you, Mr. Casey, and my soon-to-be ex-wife. I can't make Tuesday and Thursday afternoon counseling sessions, and your own guidelines call for Saturday counseling for no more than two months, so you order is in violation of your own procedures," I got out before she interrupted.

"Those are only guidelines, and here more is necessary. You can work with your wife for a suitable schedule but she needs to agree to it," the judge snapped. "I'll hold you in contempt if you don't show up and have you arrested."

"Let there be no mistake. Now, talking as the DA, with the Court Reporter transcribing it, I hereby advise you and everyone else here or privy to the record that if any attorney in my office is arrested for failure to appear at a counseling session that isn't on a weekend or after two months of counseling have passed anyone associated with the arrest will themselves be arrested by the Metropolitan Police for obstruction of justice and my office will prosecute," I said in my most authoritative and snarky voice.

With that I collected my papers, got up, and turned to leave; as I did so I saw the absolutely shocked faces of everyone on the other side of the aisle. It looked like Casey was seconds away from a coronary; Amber was simply gap-jawed.

I had actually entered the aisle before Judge St. John yelled "Are you threatening me Mr. Westin?"

I replied, this time in a respectful tone, "No, I was just making the position of the Office of the DA in City X clear. Do I need to be here any longer?"

I could see steam coming out of her ears. I just stood there as she glared at me for a good half minute before she said "I'll issue my order today and it WILL be obeyed," then slammed her gavel down again and stormed out as the startled bailiff announced "Court's adjourned."

Apparently Judge St. John didn't believe me. She sent out an order – a copy hand delivered to me at my office – that afternoon setting mandatory counselling sessions every Tuesday and Thursday for six months, starting just four days from then – at 3 p.m. in a suburb about ten miles from my office. I knew what was coming so I asked the Chief of Police to come to my office Monday morning.

Chief Matson was a grizzled veteran. He had seen it all – except what I was about to discuss with him. He and I had had a good relationship even when I was a Public Defender because I was always respectful toward him and valued his opinion. As DA he knew that I was a no nonsense law and order type who would back his cops unless there was real malfeasance.

I told him what I wanted, and who I wanted to help me.

"Are you sure about this Brad?" he asked after expelling a whistle. "I've never heard of anything like this before. You're poking a beehive."

"Chief, I probably have never told you but I washed out of the SEALs only a few days before the conclusion of the weeding out process because I wasn't mentally tough enough. I vowed that it would never happen again. This is just as important to me as getting into the SEALs was, and I'm not going to wash out again. Will you ask Hampton and Suritz to help me?"

Hampton and Suritz were two really tough cops, one in Vice, the other in Homicide. They got into an altercation with Sherriff's deputies at the annual charity softball game three years ago. It was that altercation that led to the game being permanently canceled.

Chief Matson stared at me a few seconds more, chuckled, stood up, shook my hand and said "OK – good luck!"

When I talked to Hampton and Suritz that afternoon they were about as enthusiastic as anyone I'd ever seen – you would have thought that I had just given them an all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii rather than asking them for their help in arresting people in the law enforcement community.

After I didn't show up at the mandatory counselling session on Tuesday the counselor called me. I told her that I had made it clear that I was never showing up to a weekday counseling session. She called again when I didn't show Thursday and I asked her what part of our last conversation she didn't understand. She said that she would report it to the Court.

From my little mole in the Family Court I found, as expected, that by 9 a. m. on Friday Judge St. John had ordered my arrest by the Sheriff's Department but that they would wait until just before the end of the day to arrest me so that I'd have to spend the weekend in jail. I pre-empted them and showed up at the Sheriff's office at noon, told him that I was leaving for the weekend in ten minutes so if he had anything to say to me he had to say it now.

The Sheriff handed me the arrest order from Judge St. John and had a nearby deputy arrest me. I advised the deputy that if he did he was obstructing justice and he would be arrested by the police. He went ahead anyway.

A friend, who was a criminal attorney, was waiting right there. He made a call as soon as I was arrested and over the phone gave the party at the other end of the line the name of the deputy sheriff who had arrested me. Within an hour after my arrest was processed my friend got me released on my own recognizance.

As I was about to leave the Sheriff's Office, Hampton and Suritz arrived with an arrest warrant for the Deputy and big smiles on their faces as they chuckled "Good afternoon, Mr. D. A." I just smiled back. I didn't stay around. I could hear the yelling even after I reached the sidewalk and just chortled to myself, thinking that that was only mild compared to what would occur when they arrested Judge St. John.

Friday at 6:00 p. m. I got a frantic call from the Mayor himself. "Brad, what in the hell is going on? You had a deputy sheriff and a family court judge arrested? Are you insane?"

"No, Mr. Mayor. They were obstructing justice and had been specifically warned," I replied.

He yelled, "I don't give a shit. Get them out of jail NOW – they're not spending the weekend in detention."

"As you wish Mr. Mayor, but the arrest warrant stands, and I do intend to prosecute them," I firmly replied.

He was silent for a few seconds. "We'll talk about the future – just get them out now."

I personally went to the jail and had the deputy and Judge St. John released. As the judge was being processed out she yelled at me – I had my trusty recording app on again – "You'll pay for this you asshole Westin. You'll never get your divorce from me."

I cut the app off, held up my iPhone and said – with the most sarcasm that I could muster – "You're right your honor. You'll recuse yourself or the Chief Judge of your little kangaroo court will do it for you."

She stormed out, as angry and anyone I had ever seen in my life.

There must have been numerous phone calls over the weekend because Monday morning I got a call from the Chief Judge of the criminal court – where I and my assistants had to appear all of the time – asking me to come see him. After some initial pleasantries he led me into his office.

"Brad, I need to talk with you off the record about something."

"Sorry Your Honor but I know what it's about and I'm afraid that I cannot talk with you off the record," I respectfully replied.

"You're going to get your balls in a meat grinder son, and I don't want to see that happen. You're a good DA and I like you personally, but after the election you'll be out of a job unless you change your attitude about the Family Court."

"I'd rather have my balls ground up than give in. I'm in the right. The fix was in, and now it won't be. I genuinely appreciate your advice, but I've taken my stand," I calmly replied.

He got a wistful smile on his face. "I hope that you like your next job," he said with that smile still on his face as he shook my hand.

"Thank you, Your Honor; I will be sure to," I replied and then exited. I could see him shaking his head in the reflection off of a glass panel at the entrance to his chambers.

Two days later I got a call for another 2:00 p. m. hearing at Family Court. Amber was there with a different attorney, and a different judge, Judge Samuel O'Connor. The attorney didn't try to talk to me. Judge O'Connor started right in.

"Judge St. John has recused herself and I have been assigned this case. I have vacated her counselling order and the Contempt citation against Mr. Westin. The purpose of this hearing is to determine a mutually agreeable schedule for marriage counselling for the parties. Mr. Westin, what day is it convenient for you to appear once a week for the next two months?"

"Your honor I believe that counseling is a waste of time and I object to any counseling at all," I replied in the respectful tone that I always use in criminal court.

"I understand, Mr. Westin. However, I have seen many couples with a far worse situation than the one set forth in your petition work things out and end up happily married. I'm not willing to jettison this marriage until I get some feedback from a professional counselor. So, I ask again, when is convenient?"

"Saturday mornings anywhere in the city, not the suburbs, paid for by Mrs. Miller from her assets after division," I replied.

"Mrs. Miller, is that acceptable to you?"

Amber stood, and with a halting voice replied "Yes, your honor."

"Good; this Saturday, then. Mrs. Miller have the counselor that you select call Mr. Westin as soon as possible to give him the time and place. Mr. Westin, your full cooperation is required. IF I receive a report from the counselor that you are uncooperative I can levy sanctions including making a different split of assets than would otherwise be called for even if I do grant a divorce. Understood?"

"Yes Your Honor," I replied with a shoulder shrug.

"Unless there is something else, Court is adjourned," O'Connor concluded. Seeing no reaction from anyone else he hit his gavel, got up and left.

Amber tried to come up to me saying something about how sorry she was about the arrest but that she just got some bad advice from the bank's attorneys, but I just said over my shoulder "See you Saturday." When I got back to my office I dropped the charges against the deputy and Judge St. John and had my assistant call them to notify them of that fact. I had won the pissing contest – no reason not to be gracious now.

I also had a fifth of single malt Scotch delivered to each of Hampton and Suritz with a thank you note.

The first counselling session was miserably predictable. Amber showed up dressed to kill – like I didn't already know that she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen live. I wasn't divorcing her for her looks.

The counselor's name was Judith Fell. She had a PhD certificate from an Ivy League school on her wall, and she had an attitude, as was apparent from her conversation before we got started. At least she was professional once we did.

"Before getting down to business, do either of you have any questions?" she asked.

"I do, Dr. Fell," I said. "How can you be objective if Amber has selected and is paying you – or isn't objectivity important?"

"Mrs. Miller may be paying me, but my obligation is to the Court, to whom my report is directed. The Court requires me to be objective; this is not an adversarial proceeding. It has reconciliation as its goal, not to identify a winner or loser," she replied, not sounding the least bit perturbed. "Any other questions, Mr. Westin?"

"Yes, Dr. Fell; what is the point of this proceeding? I advised Amber since the day that we met how important fidelity was to me, yet she had sex at least five times with another man. I also told her that as an attorney, and later DA, that it would reflect very badly on me if she used marijuana, yet she used it the times that she had sex with another man. I don't want to be married to a cheat and druggy, and I won't be," I coolly said.

"Mr. Westin – may I call you Brad?"

"No; 'Mr. Westin will do just fine," I replied.

"Very well; Mr. Westin, we need to explore why Amber did what she did and see what you both can do to help you move past it. We'll explore what made you a happy couple, and how you can get back to that situation," she calmly responded.

"What if I don't care why she did what she did, and what if I don't care to get past it?" I asked.

"It's for your own good that you do get past it, Mr. Westin, and if you still have feelings for Mrs. Miller the best thing for you personally would be to reconcile."

I made some more statements, she articulated some more happy-horseshit platitudes, and then she gave Amber the floor to talk.

Amber's soliloquy was totally foreseeable. She talked about the good times that we had had, that she felt lonely when I started having to work so hard, how her first night at Barnes' house she did not expect him to come on to her, that she had had too much to drink and marijuana, that she is appalled by her own weakness, that she loves me and only me, how she wants to have my children, and that she would never cheat again if I gave her a chance to make it up to me. It took at least half an hour.

My response was short and sweet. "She just wants to save the penalty under the pre-nup for her breaking – actually obliterating – the fidelity clause. I don't want her as my wife, period. I want out; it's as simple as that."

The counselor tried to draw me out. Why was this one mistake so important, why I didn't have any forgiveness, hadn't I loved her, blah, blah, blah. My responses were terse and unyielding. By the end of the hour and fifteen minute consultation Amber and the counselor had gotten nothing from me. The counselor gave us some things to think about for the next time – I barely listened.