Two uniformed court officers led my sister out the side door of Courtroom 3B while Marcus picked up his black leather briefcase from the counsel table.

We walked down the wide carpeted hall to Prosecutor Ellis’s second-floor conference room at the far end of the building.

Prosecutor Ellis sat behind a long oak table with three fat beige folders stacked neatly in front of his notepad.

“Vanessa’s defense lawyer signed the revised plea terms six minutes ago,” Prosecutor Ellis said.

He slid the top legal document across the dark wood to Marcus.

“The backdated settlement release your mother tried to get you to sign showed consciousness of guilt,” Prosecutor Ellis said.