“Thomas Bellamy,” he said, his voice flat, measured, and without a trace of hurry.

“Thomas, I’m sitting in my kitchen with my mother,” I said, switching the call to speaker so Helen could catch every word.

“A courier just dropped off an eighteen-page court petition from Patricia’s lawyers.”

The line went quiet for a moment, and then came the faint, steady tap of his pen striking the precise edge of his legal pad.

“Ah, yes, the formal challenge from Vance and Vance,” Thomas said.

“The clerk sent over my courtesy copy twenty minutes ago.”