By noon on Friday, the audio from the purple toy recorder was safely copied onto two separate flash drives kept in my locked briefcase.

I sat at a little corner table in the Panera Bread on Farmington Avenue, three blocks from the Hartford family courthouse.

Grant sat right across from me in a tailored navy suit, adjusting the knot of his silk tie with two fingers before laying his hands flat on the table.

Margaret sat on his right in her structured lavender jacket, stirring a paper cup of black tea with a little wooden stick.

Grant pushed a stapled two-page summary sheet across the laminate table, stopping it just beside my water glass.