She laid the original bank signature card flat on the bench next to the yellow audit ledger.

Richard Hale tapped his gold fountain pen on his yellow notepad three times, but didn’t raise a single objection.

“We’ll take a short recess,” Judge Whitmore said, her low voice firm.

“When we come back at one forty-five, I’ll hear from the court-appointed child advocate.”

Grant adjusted his silk tie and leaned in close to Hale, whispering quickly while he looked across at my table.

I stayed in my wooden chair, pressing my thumb to the inside of my wrist while the gallery emptied into the hallway.