Chapter 12 - THE CHAMPAGNE CART
Police reviewed Dad’s use of the champagne cart.
Video mattered.
Dorothy positioned herself in the corridor between me and the marked exit.
I was visibly leaking fluid and being supported by Dad.
He told her:
“Move.”
Twice.
She did not.
She stepped toward me.
Dad shoved the cart across the space between us.
It struck her lower legs.
She fell backward into a chair.
He stopped.
No pursuit.
No second contact.
No celebration.
Prosecutors declined to charge him after reviewing defense-of-another principles and the immediate medical urgency, though Dorothy preserved the right to civil claims.
Her lawyer called it assault.
Dad’s lawyer called it necessary force to clear an obstruction.
I called it:
“Something I wish had not happened and understood why it did.”
Dad hated my answer.
“You think I should have asked politely a third time?”
“I think you should never use my opinion as your legal argument.”
He stared.
Then laughed once.
“Fair.”
His final threat about darkness?
Not charged.
Ugly.
Vague.
No specific unlawful act.
Still, his attorney advised:
“Do not speak to Dorothy again.”
Dad replied:
May you like
“Gladly.”
For once, legal advice aligned with personality.
