In a Hartford Courtroom, Grant Wanted the House Until a Little Purple Toy Started Playing
He picked up his leather case, snapped his notepad shut, and left the counsel table without a glance at Grant.
In the marble hallway outside Courtroom 3B, Margaret Holloway walked straight for the double exit doors, her lavender lapels stiff and smooth.
She didn’t turn her head to look at Grant, and she didn’t look back at Sophie.
Grant stood beside the brass drinking fountain in his charcoal ceremony suit, every trace of his smooth, practiced tone gone.
“Emily,” he said, keeping his hands down at his sides.
“If you enforce the immediate bank freeze, the commercial firm goes under by Friday.”
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