Before midnight I emailed our family lawyer, Sandra Vance, and asked her to join the meeting with Samuel.

I did not tell my parents where we were sleeping.

PART 4

Sandra arrived at Samuel’s office carrying two legal pads, a yellow folder, and the expression she wore when she expected bad news but hadn’t decided how bad.

His practice occupied the second floor of an older building near the courthouse.

No polished marble, no elaborate conference table.

Just a window overlooking a quiet street and shelves of files that had seen years of real disputes.

Samuel was in his early sixties, with silver hair and a habit of pausing before important sentences.