*** Prologue ***
What a fucking mess!
Circuit Court Judge Roy P Hallidad felt like laying his head in his hands but restrained himself for the dignity of the bench. He had seen cantankerous divorces before, his own had been somewhat terse, but he regretted now filling in for a family court colleague on medical leave. He had never seen anything this bad with such a cast of ignominious characters. Most of the accused criminals he judged in his own court had more morals than this pair of despicable adults.
The Connelly nuptials were the worst example of a corrupt marriage. The character accusations were preposterous hyperbole.
She said that after a dozen or so years of fraught matrimony, for the next half dozen, he had successively fucked his way through the entire Secretarial Pool; rounding back for additional affairs with immodest impetuosity until he found the one with the lowest self-esteem that would finally shack up with her philandering boss.
He said that his estranged wife did her best job on her knees, blowjobs galore that is, for the executive core that promised to advance her mediocre career. That was how they had met originally; her on her knees in his office with a mouthful of his cock.
Yet, despite their moral turpitudes, the hard-driving professionals both had managed to prosper in business and had accumulated considerable wealth.
In individual conferences, the judge found both parties' accusations to be mostly substantive and largely true.
About the only good to come out of the marriage was the now-teenage daughter, Amber.
The plaintiffs, through their rapacious lawyers, had negotiated a near settlement. Each divorcee would get half the fixed assets: real estate, cars, precious jewelry, etc. About a third of the estate was liquid and they had agreed about 80% of that third would devolve to Amber as a trust.
The big issue was which parent would get custody: control the trust, eagerly, and act as guardian, reluctantly, because that would have Amber under foot, potentially hindering their free-fuck lifestyle. But the lucrative trust commissions won out the day and each parent sought sole custody of... the trust, and obligatorily... Amber.
The judge thought back to the pre-trial interviews where he questioned each plaintiff individually.
What was Amber's favorite class? How were her grades? What were her interests? Who were her teachers? What was her favorite food? Name one of her friends.
They mumbled guesses but neither had a clue to the facts or the truth. They hadn't cared to monitor Amber's life and social activities until the money came up.
But Judge Hallidad knew. He had reviewed her school records and teachers' evaluations.
Amber held a respectable 3.8-grade point average, loved math and science, had earned a few advanced college credits during her Senior high school year, was captain of her cheer squad, and enjoyed the chess club. Her yearbook photo showed a bright-faced smiling young lady with light blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. How she had managed to succeed so well in spite of the tumultuous home life was something of a miracle.
Amber acted more mature as a teenager than either parent. Neither of them was worthy enough to take care of this magnificent young lady. She was a hidden gem that needed a place where she could get a final polish into a total young woman.
He contacted Ms. Heather, a close acquaintance from a special institution he palpably and financially supported. She offered a solution; one that he already had in mind but needed her cooperation to carry out. And that made the judge's ruling easier; he had a surprise in store for the plaintiffs.
"I will now rule on the matter of the daughter's trust. Miss Amber. Please step forward to the bench."
A preppy-dressed fair-haired trim and fit blonde rose from the gallery and stepped through the bar gate to the open space before Judge Hallidad. Her slim legs were propped on midsized heels, and she wore a mid-thigh ivory wool skirt and blazer set. The coat was unbuttoned in front and loosely covered a button-up blouse, whose stressed buttons across her bosom implied it was working hard to hold it together over her bra-stuffing breasts.
Her sky-blue eyes looked demurely downward beneath straight-cut bangs. The straight tresses fell behind to midback, clinched in a ponytail by a small jeweled hair clip. Her hands were clasped demurely in front, her stance respectful and attentive. The judge looked down on the girl he had only seen pictures of in her yearbook. Her real-life stunning presence gave him pause.
'Damn', he thought, 'she's a perfect angel: lithe form, healthy glow, and well built; those cheer exercises really work. And she has an eye for eye-catching fashion.'