At three minutes to nine, Evelyn carried her brown leather accordion file through the oak double doors of Courtroom B.

The tall arched windows let in the flat morning sun of early October, laying long pale rectangles across the mahogany benches.

Frank sat at the defense table in a navy wool suit, his hands flat on the table next to his lawyer, a bald man with sharp gold-rimmed glasses named Vance.

Lauren sat two rows behind them on the spectators’ bench, twisting a silver hoop earring around her thumb and staring at the polished floorboards.

Judge Harrison came in from his chambers, his dark robes brushing against the bench railing as the bailiff called the court to order.