On Monday morning, I appeared promptly at 9:00 AM for the scheduled hearing. There was no movement or acknowledgement for the first 14 minutes—even though the clerk confirmed I was present. That immediately raised concerns. This wasn’t a stacked calendar day—it was just my hearing. I knew the opposing party was physically at the courthouse, and without access to courtroom cameras or visibility into what was happening, I had no idea whether anything was being discussed off record. So I asked the clerk to activate the courtroom camera. At 9:16, the clerk told me everyone was logging on. Opposing counsel briefly appeared on camera and then turned it off. When he turned it back on a few seconds later, he was no longer visible. It wasn’t until 9:30 that the judge came on camera, followed by the attorney, who reappeared on his feed. She claimed the delay was due to “technical difficulties,” but for nearly 12 minutes prior to that, I had no way of knowing whether conversations were happening without me present.
I can’t prove that an improper exchange took place—but during the hearing, the opposing party made a comment that strongly suggested prior communication. He said something to the effect of, “I forwarded an email to your clerk with the ShareFile link for the proposed settled record and supplementals, but I know you’ve been having issues with your personal computer, so I’m not sure if you saw it.” How would he know that unless it had been discussed? Even if the clerk told him directly, that’s still ex parte communication if it relates to a matter before the court. Whether subtle or direct, it raised serious due process concerns.
I didn’t want to prolong the hearing. I made my argument, briefly corrected his misrepresentations, and left it there. I wasn’t going to be pulled into another performative back-and-forth. The judge said she’d take it under advisement and issue a ruling by April 29. That didn’t happen. Instead, 10 minutes before 5 PM that day, I got another email from opposing counsel—offering to settle.
The tone was manipulative. He framed it as though things had “gotten out of hand” and that because it had taken a toll on both Anna and me, I should just end it. He didn’t say it directly, but the implication was clear. He knew I’d filed in federal court and that I’d previously told him I would no longer entertain settlement offers at the state level. Yet here he was, trying to bait me again—knowing full well that if I accepted, he could argue I violated the automatic stay. This wasn’t negotiation; it was a trap.
Even more disturbing, his email was almost word-for-word identical to one I received from the previous attorney back in August. He even used the same phrase: “this has gotten out of hand,” The last time I heard that, it was followed by a motion to dismiss. Now here it was again, on the exact day a ruling was supposed to be issued—but wasn’t.
I didn’t respond right away. I had to sit with it and figure out how to move forward. The next day, I confirmed my position and reminded him I had already made it clear: I would not settle post-federal filing. I stood firm.
Still, no ruling came. The next night, at 11 PM, he emailed me again—this time referencing his response to my Petition for Discretionary Review with the North Carolina Supreme Court. And what he submitted… was outrageous.
In that filing, he misrepresented material facts to the Supreme Court. He told them that the Court of Appeals had already ruled against me and nullified my appeal—which is false. He framed the entire case as though I had raised no substantial rights issue, and implied that my claims were legally meritless. He selectively referenced orders and timelines in a way that distorted their context. But the most unsettling part is that he appeared to be referencing internal insight from the Court of Appeals—insight I was not privy to. Whether that’s true or not almost doesn’t matter; the effect is the same. It plants the idea that he’s more connected, more informed, and more credible. And if the Supreme Court believes he has inside knowledge, they may treat his assertions as factual—whether or not they actually are.
This is exactly how opposing counsel has operated throughout this entire case—by posturing as if he speaks for the court, or has authority that others don’t. At this point, I’m not just responding in state court and federal court—I’m having to notify every court of how the other courts are being used against me, and how procedural failure in one venue is bleeding into another. I’m going to have to file a notice in Court of Appeals, the trial court, and now the Supreme Court—just to make sure they understand what’s really happening.
What I’m experiencing now is systemic exhaustion by design. I’m being backed into a corner where the only remaining option may be to file another federal lawsuit—to protect myself from the state court. Because if opposing counsel really doesn’t have inside access, then he’s fabricating confidence to influence the highest court in this state. And if he does have inside access… then the damage is already done.
Either way, this latest filing opens the door for me to subpoena him in federal court. Whether I will or not remains to be seen—but what’s clear is that this isn’t just about procedure anymore. It’s about power, accountability, and whether the system protects those who weaponize it.