Daniel walked into the waiting area with his attorney, Arthur Hayes, a tall man in an expensive navy suit carrying a monogrammed leather folder.

Daniel looked crisp and untouched by the morning heat, his gray executive coat fitted over a starched white shirt.

He stopped by the marble drinking fountain, tapped his gold pen against his wristwatch, and gave me a small, practiced nod.

“I’m glad you decided to show up, Rebecca,” Daniel said as he came over to our bench.

“We can settle this property split cleanly if you stop letting your emotions run the schedule.”

Marcus didn’t look up from his files.