My hands didn’t shake.

I opened my fingers and let the fraudulent court petition fall to the kitchen floor.

At nine the next morning, David sat behind his metal desk with a yellow legal pad between his elbows.

He looked at his silver wristwatch twice before he lifted his eyes to mine.

“I got four phone calls from your ex-mother-in-law before eight thirty,” he said.

He tapped his ballpoint pen neatly against the plastic edge of his desk blotter.