I personally delivered the binding legal cross-claims to Elder Ruth’s office. She accepted the thick envelope from my hands, her expression initially one of surprised irritation. She was alone, seated behind her grand, carved oak desk, the very picture of authority.
Her eyes scanned the cover sheet, her brow furrowing slightly. Then her gaze dropped to the first page, and I watched as the color drained from her face. Her lips, usually so firm, parted slightly.
She read faster, her eyes darting across the specific mentions of “Frankie Lombardo,” “syndicate ledger,” and “Covenant Sanctuary Deed (Partial).” The air in the room grew heavy, thick with unspoken panic.
She slammed the papers down. “What is this blasphemy, Abigail?” she demanded, her voice a low growl. “These are lies!”
“They are facts, Elder Ruth,” I replied, my voice calm, almost unnervingly so. “Backed by certified records.”
Her hand flew to her chest, as if warding off an unseen blow. She looked truly shaken, her carefully constructed facade crumbling.
“You have gone too far,” she whispered, her eyes wide with a fear I had never seen in her before. “You have crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed.”
I simply stood there, waiting. I knew what would come next.
Later that afternoon, a junior elder, Brother Thomas, arrived at my study. His face was pale, his eyes wide with distress. He didn’t meet my gaze directly.
“Sister Abigail,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “Elder Ruth has called for an emergency excommunication trial.”
My grip tightened on the armrest of my chair. “An emergency trial? On what grounds?”
“Immediate spiritual transgression,” he recited, clearly repeating Ruth’s words. “Bringing grave disrepute and unholy influence upon the Sacred Light.”
He swallowed hard. “It’s to be held tonight, in the sanctuary, immediately after the evening meal. The entire congregation is summoned.”
An emergency trial. It was a desperate move, an obvious attempt to strip me of my standing before the secular court dates could arrive. Ruth wanted to excommunicate me, label me an apostate, and thereby render my legal filings null and void in the eyes of the community – and, she hoped, in the eyes of the world outside the Covenant.
“Will Micah be there?” I asked, my voice flat.
Brother Thomas hesitated. “Yes. As a witness to your alleged unholy actions against your consecrated vows.”
It was a spectacle, designed to crush me publicly. A show trial, orchestrated by Ruth to regain control and discredit my claims before any real legal discovery could happen.
I nodded slowly. “Tell Elder Ruth I will attend.”
Brother Thomas looked surprised, as if he expected me to refuse, to flee. But there was nowhere to flee to. And I had no intention of backing down.
I spent the next hour reviewing my legal cross-claims again, carefully choosing which documents to bring with me. I tucked Silas’s certified ledger printouts into a slim folder, along with my own civil injunctions.
The communal bell tolled for the evening meal, its chimes heavy and solemn. I could hear the muted sounds of the congregation gathering in the refectory, their hushed conversations already hinting at the drama to unfold.
Soon, the bell would ring again, this time for the emergency trial in the sanctuary. Ruth thought she would pronounce my excommunication, sever my ties, and seize my inheritance. She thought she was still in control.
But she had brought this fight to my turf, and I was ready to meet her there.
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