My father sat on the wooden bench by the double doors, his back straight and his fingers folded over his knees.

He gazed up at the high ornamental ceiling without a word, his dark overcoat open just far enough to show his navy tie.

At eight forty-five the heavy oak doors of Courtroom 3B swung open with a dull scrape over the terrazzo floor.

Trevor came in first in his tailored navy suit, his leather shoes making no sound on the runner.

Colleen trailed three steps behind him in a dark gray coat with polished silver buttons, her eyes locked on the front bench.