“You need Carl Gable.”

At eleven o’clock, Carl Gable was sitting behind his mahogany desk, arranging a thick stack of white legal paper.

“I have the preliminary drafts ready,” Carl said.

“But the legal bar for this kind of action is extremely high, Arthur.”

I sat down and set the blue binder on his desk.

“We need an emergency judicial review,” I said.

“And an immediate order of accounting for Emma’s welfare trust.”

Carl opened the binder and looked at the empty plastic sleeves.