22
KNOX
We getthe call at 7:12 a.m. Emergency hearing at ten. Troy’s lawyer filed overnight to freeze our releases and claim ownership of “early ideas.” Our counsel says the leak went live at six. The wire audio is out. The café transcript is out. A clean excerpt, bleeped, posted by counsel, not by us. It’s already everywhere.
I hate starting a day like this, but I like fast court more than slow court. We dress clean, neutral. No sunglasses. No biker jackets. We take the back entrance, clear security, and sit at the counsel table with our binders open. The chain-of-creation package sits in front of me: split sheets, DAW logs, stem lists, time-stamped exports, session video stills, behind-the-scenes clips with slates, file metadata printouts, calendar invites, and receipt trail. A simple index on top.
Across the aisle, Troy sits with his lawyer. Hoodie under a blazer. He doesn’t look at us. He stares at the rail like it owes him something. He glances at the gallery where the press sits. He likes that part. He always did.
The judge takes the bench right on time. Mid-fifties, direct, not bored. “On calendar: Turner versus Turner et al. Application for temporary restraining order and preliminary injunction.” She looks down the docket. “Counsel, appearances.”
Troy’s lawyer stands. Name, firm. Our counsel stands. Name, firm. I sit with my hands flat because it keeps me from doing anything else.
Troy’s side goes first. Standard pitch. He says, “my client’s intellectual property,” “misappropriation,” and “irreparable harm.” He says, “ideas captured during the family band era,” like that phrase means something in law. He waves at a PDF that looks like a list of titles without files. He takes a shot at “Locket” by name. He says it pulls from “themes” he claims he had in a voice memo. He asks to enjoin the release, distribution, and promotion.
The judge asks, “Do you have dated files?”
He says they are “recovering access.”
She asks, “Do you have any contemporaneous writings tied to the compositions at issue?”
He says, “Proprietary pattern and practice.”
The fuck does that even mean?
She asks, “Anything other than your client’s say-so?”
He moves on to “public confusion” and “ongoing damage to brand.”
Our counsel stands. No theatrics. “Your Honor, we have a clear chain of creation for the works at issue this month.” He hands up the index and a slim binder—one song per tab, “Locket”first. “We’ll hit the high points. The record shows authorship by Houston Turner, with contributions by Knox and Salem Turner. Ms. Navarro recorded guide tones. She is credited accordingly.”
“Proof beyond their word?”
“We have session files with embedded time stamps, export logs, and session video that matches. We also have location-stamped behind-the-scenes footage showing the same takes on the same dates. We have the paper trail for studio time, engineer confirmations, and a calendar that aligns with all of it.”
The judge holds up a hand. “Play the hallway clip,” she says.
The bailiff dims the lights. The clip runs. Grainy, time stamp in the corner, a figure moving with a small left-foot drag on push-off. I feel the hairs on my arms lift because I know that walk. The judge watches twice. “Authenticate this,” she says. Our counsel calls the guard as a declarant in the papers; the judge nods. “All right.”
Troy’s lawyer objects to the café audio. “Illegally recorded.”
Our counsel answers, “One-party consent jurisdiction, Your Honor. Also, opposing counsel made this the subject of his motion by claiming an unsafe environment and a need to maintain the status quo.”
The judge says, “I’ve seen worse on the six o’clock news,” and moves on. She doesn’t need the audio. She has enough. “Counsel,” she says to Troy’s side, “you are asking me to take possession of a set of songs you haven’t substantiated and to freeze the defendants’ work. On this record, I don’t see likelihood of success on the merits, and the balance of equities is not in your favor.”
She looks at our side. “As to safety, the court is not going to micromanage a family fight.”
She rules from the bench. “Plaintiff’s application for a temporary restraining order based on IP ownership is denied. The request to enjoin distribution or promotion is denied. Defendants’ request for a temporary restraining order is granted in part. Mr. Troy Turner shall stay five hundred feet from Sagebrush Studio, the hotel suites listed in the sealed attachment, and from defendants Knox, Houston, and Salem Turner, and Ms. Lou Navarro. No direct or indirect contact. No release of any purported intimate videos or images; preservation of any devices potentially containing such files is ordered. Lawful law enforcement requests shall be honored. We will set a preliminary injunction hearing in three weeks. Counsel to meet and confer on preservation.”
Gavel. That’s it.
We stand. The clerk hands us the written TRO while we’re still in the well. We exit into the hall. Press cameras are there, but the deputies hold them back.
Troy peels off from his lawyer and crosses our path just enough to stink of intent. He looks at Salem and says, low but clear, “Keep an eye out for that video.” He grins like a kid breaking a vase and walks away.
I feel Salem go hot next to me. I step between them and put a hand on his chest. “Not today.” I glance at the officers around, and he settles.
Outside, the street noise is normal. Cameras click. We ignore them all. Quincy joins us at the curb. He’s in PR mode now. Hewants to get us into cars and into a plan before we say something that becomes the next story.
