When I moved to Collin County in 1983, it was a fairly sleepy rural and suburban area with a population of 175,000. Twenty-five years later, the population had risen to nearly 750,000, making it one of the fastest-growing counties in the United States.
As its tax base expanded dramatically, Collin County engaged in a series of public-works projects, the most impressive of which was an imposing new courthouse.
I had been in the marginally less impressive County Administration Building next door a few times – in fact, Donna and I were married there by a JP. But when I arrived at the Collin County Courthouse on May 31, 2022 for the hearing on my request for a temporary injunction, it was the first time I had ever set foot in the building.
I was asking the court to “enjoin” Sonia from harassing Donna and me, but only until the lawsuit was resolved – in other words, I was seeking a “temporary injunction.” As I understood it, a judge might grant a temporary injunction for several reasons, including the possibility that I would suffer “irreparable harm” if the injunction were not granted. So it was Robert’s job to convince the judge that my wife and I would be harmed by having to tolerate Sonia’s harassment for however long it might take the case to wend its way through the judicial system.
The hearing was scheduled for 1 PM, so Robert and I made plans to meet at 12:30 to discuss the case. And when I say “meet” I mean that literally – I had spoken to Robert on the phone several times, and we had exchanged a slew of emails, but this was the first time we had ever met face to face. We settled into a small conference room just outside the courtroom, where we compared notes and reviewed the information that Robert was about to present to the court.
And then it was 1 PM. Showtime.
The Courtroom
You’re not allowed to take photos inside the court, but here’s a publicity shot of one of the rooms. It’s not the 471st (the courtroom I was in), but it’s nearly identical.
The table near the bottom of the photo is the counsel table – Robert and I sat on the left side, while Tommy and Sonia sat on the right. The judge sat in the big comfy chair under the State Seal. The court reporter sat between the judge and the widescreen television, which had been mounted on the courtroom wall in case a Cowboys’ game started in the middle of a hearing.
OK, I made that last one up. The monitor was actually there in case one of the parties wanted to display a graphic or a video. Which, as it turned out, we did.
We shuffled papers until a little after 1 PM. Then Judge Andrea Bouressa walked into the courtroom, and we were ready to roll.
Judge Bouressa
Here are two fun facts about Judge Andrea Bouressa.
1. She used to work for Sonia’s lawyer.
Judge Bouressa was an associate with the law firm Scheef & Stone (S&S) from 2016 until she was appointed to the bench in 2019. Tommy Garrett has been a partner at S&S since 2015. In other words, during the entire time that she worked at S&S, Andrea Bouressa was an associate and Tommy Garrett was a partner. Could she fairly adjudicate a case where one party was represented by an attorney who had been her senior at a firm where she’d worked for three years? That probably was not grounds to have her booted off the case, but I have to admit that it made me uneasy.
2. She thinks it’s OK for you to practice law even if you’re a traitor.
You may remember Sidney Powell – she was one of Donald Trump’s lawyers who tried to overturn the 2020 election with such zeal that she liked to refer to herself as “the Kraken,” a mythical sea monster. She pled guilty to election interference, and the State Bar of Texas tried to strip her of her law license for professional misconduct. Judge Bouressa dismissed the disciplinary proceedings because the State Bar had mislabeled some of its exhibits, which apparently is a more significant offense than trying to overthrow the government of the United States.
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