Excerpt: Susan Called to Hearing

The courtroom in St. Paul smelled of polished wood and stale air, a faint whiff of lemon cleaner clinging to the benches as Susan Shogren-Smith stepped inside. It was April 9, 2021, and the morning light slanted through the tall windows, catching dust motes in a lazy dance above the gallery. She adjusted her blazer, smoothing the fabric over her arms, and took a seat at the counsel table, her legal pads and folders stacked neatly in front of her. The room was quieter than she’d expected—no buzzing crowd, just a handful of lawyers and court staff murmuring in low tones. The Zoom feed hummed faintly from a monitor in the corner, a concession to the lingering shadow of COVID that still shaped how justice was dispensed.

Susan’s stomach churned as she glanced at the judge’s bench, empty for now. Judge Castro would be here soon, and she still couldn’t shake the question gnawing at her: Why this? Why now? She’d filed the election contests back in December, racing against a seven-day deadline after the Minnesota State Canvassing Board certified the 2020 results. She’d poured everything into them—affidavits from sixty counties, evidence of missing ballots, violations of election law—all to get the Supreme Court to stop the certification. But they’d dropped it without a whisper of a hearing, no evidence considered, no questions asked. So why was this hearing happening, months later, over a single contestant’s complaint? And why was Corinne Braun—Nick Brown now, she reminded herself—making such a fuss about it?

She flipped open a folder, her eyes skimming the affidavit from Corinne, or Nick, dated February 21. “I was unaware of my involvement,” it claimed, a line that stung like a slap. Susan had trusted Jose Jimenez to handle contestant communications, just as they’d agreed—he’d founded the Minnesota Election Integrity Team, recruited the volunteers, promised to sign onto every contest she drafted. She’d built the cases on his assurances and the affidavits he’d sent her, each one signed under penalty of perjury. Corinne’s signature was right there, clear as day, contesting Ilhan Omar’s election. So why the amnesia now? Was this retaliation for daring to challenge the system? Susan’s petition to the Supreme Court had rattled cages—maybe too many.

The bailiff’s voice cut through her thoughts. “All rise!” Susan stood, her knees stiff, as Judge Castro swept in, his black robe billowing slightly. He was a wiry man, mid-fifties, with sharp eyes and a jaw set like he’d already made up his mind. He settled behind the bench, nodding curtly. “Be seated. We’re here on a Rule 60.02 motion, case 62-CV-20-5602. Let’s get started.”

Susan took a breath, glancing at Jose Jimenez, who sat a few rows back, his suit crisp but his expression tense. She’d asked him to be here, hoping his testimony could untangle this mess. He knew the MNEIT’s inner workings, knew she’d acted on his direction. If Castro would just let him speak, they could clear this up—prove she hadn’t fabricated anything, hadn’t “bamboozled” anyone. But as the judge shuffled his papers, her hope felt brittle.

Erick Kaardal, Corinne’s attorney, rose first, his voice smooth and clipped. “Your Honor, my client, Ms. Braun—Mr. Brown now—seeks relief under Rule 60.02. They were listed as a contestant without consent, a clear fraud on the court. We ask to proceed strictly on this motion to remove them from the case.”

Castro nodded, his gaze flicking to Susan. “Ms. Shogren-Smith, you’ve seen the order for this hearing. Response?”

Susan stood, her notes trembling slightly in her hand. “Your Honor, I filed a motion for a continuance earlier this week. Mr. Brown submitted a 49-page document just an hour ago—12:56 p.m., to be exact. It’s new evidence, and I haven’t had time to review it. I’d ask for a postponement so all parties can respond fairly.”

Kaardal cut in, his tone sharp. “We object, Your Honor. This is a simple 60.02 motion. My client wants off this lawsuit—nothing more. Delaying it raises jurisdictional issues we’d rather avoid.”

Castro leaned back, tapping a pen against his desk. “I haven’t reviewed your motion, Ms. Shogren-Smith, but based on what you’re saying here, I’m denying it. We’re moving forward. Mr. Kaardal, your client’s position?”

Kaardal gestured to the Zoom screen, where Corinne—or Nick—appeared, their face framed by a plain background. “Mr. Brown will testify, Your Honor.”

Susan’s pulse quickened. She’d wanted this—to question Corinne, to get to the truth—but Castro’s next words stopped her cold. “I need to understand Mr. Brown’s position better,” he said, peering at the screen. “And I’d like advice from the lawyers present. But let’s keep this focused. Proceed.”

Corinne’s voice came through, steady but clipped. “I just want to be removed from the contest, Your Honor. I got an email from the MNEIT saying if I wanted to contest the election, I should sign the affidavit. I read it, filled it out, signed it—said I was contesting Ilhan Omar’s election. I emailed it back. But I didn’t know it meant all this.”

Susan’s breath hitched. That was it—Corinne had signed it, knowingly. She opened her mouth to speak, but Castro raised a hand. “Hold on, Ms. Shogren-Smith. We’re on the 60.02 motion. I need to establish if all three named plaintiffs—Mr. Brown, Ms. WH, Ms. SS—were properly included.”

He turned to Susan, his eyes narrowing. “My concern is whether a fraud was perpetrated on this court by adding plaintiffs without an attorney-client relationship. Ms. Shogren-Smith, did you discuss filing this lawsuit in their names?”

Susan straightened, her voice firm. “Your Honor, I relied on Jose Jimenez, the lead attorney for the MNEIT. He provided me with signed affidavits from each contestant, including Mr. Brown. I—”

“Did you discuss it with them?” Castro interrupted, his tone biting. “Do you know what a discussion means?”

“Yes, I know what a discussion is,” Susan replied, heat rising in her cheeks. “I—”

“Did you discuss it with them?” he pressed again, cutting her off. “Yes or no?”

Susan hesitated, her mind racing. She hadn’t spoken to them directly—that was Jose’s role, per their agreement. “No, Your Honor, but—”

“No further explanation,” Castro snapped. “Yes or no questions. Did you have their consent to file?”

“I believed I had their consent through Mr. Jimenez,” she said, her voice steady but tight. “The affidavits—”

“Do you understand what it means to be an officer of the court?” Castro interjected, his voice rising. “Answer me.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Susan said, her throat dry. “I—”

“Then why didn’t you verify this yourself?” he demanded. “If you refuse to answer, I’ll hold you in contempt. Do you know what that means?”

“I do,” she said, forcing calm into her tone. “I’d like to state for the record that these questions are being asked to pigeonhole me, misrepresenting what actually happened. I acted on Mr. Jimenez’s direction, as lead counsel. He’s here—he can testify to that.”

Castro’s eyes flicked to Jose, then back to her. “I’m not hearing from Mr. Jimenez right now. I’m hearing from you. Did you personally contact these plaintiffs?”

“No,” Susan admitted, her hands clenching the edge of the table. “But the affidavits—”

“I don’t care what you believed,” Castro said, his voice cold. “Is this how you typically pick up clients, Ms. Shogren-Smith? Sending emails through someone else, filing complaints without speaking to them? Have you done this before? Or was your cause greater than your duty as a lawyer?”

Susan opened her mouth, but he waved her off. “You don’t need to answer that.” He turned to the other attorneys—Kaardal, Zoll, Hartshorn—his tone shifting. “What should I do with this case?”

Zoll, representing the state, shrugged. “It’s a nullity, Your Honor. No plaintiffs, no case.”

Castro frowned. “If it’s a nullity, does that wipe the record? My administrator knows more about that than I do.”

Hartshorn, from the Secretary of State’s office, chimed in. “We’d prefer the record stay, Your Honor. Legal issues were raised. The cost judgments should stand too.”

Zoll nodded. “Agreed.”

Castro leaned back, his gaze settling on Susan. “My prime concern today is protecting these three plaintiffs who were—well, I’m not sure what word fits—bamboozled, perhaps. And I’ll note for the record how quickly those judgments were paid after my 60.02 motion.” He paused, his voice hardening. “Based on what I’ve heard, I have no choice but to conclude Ms. Susan Shogren-Smith perpetrated a fraud on this court. Under my inherent authority, I’m sanctioning her $10,000.”

Susan’s breath caught, the word bamboozled echoing in her skull. She glanced at Jose, his face pale, but Castro wasn’t done. “We’re adjourned,” he said, banging the gavel. The room erupted into murmurs as he swept out, leaving Susan rooted to the spot.

She gathered her papers, her hands shaking. Targeted, she thought. They’re punishing me for the Supreme Court petition. Corinne’s flip-flop, Castro’s refusal to hear Jose—it all felt orchestrated. She’d fought for transparency, and this was the cost. As she stepped into the hallway, the weight of it settled on her shoulders, but her resolve hardened. They could call her a bamboozler, fine her, threaten her license—but she wouldn’t stop.