“What time does the county chancery clerk open tomorrow?” I asked.

“Eight thirty in the morning for early filings,” Marcus replied, standing up to take his raincoat down from the wall peg.

I closed the leather clasp of my evidence binder with a sharp, decisive click.

Marcus set his leather binder flat on the counsel table and popped the brass latches open.

Greg sat on my left in his dark wool suit, his right thumb tapping his index finger in a quick, steady rhythm against his knee.

Across the carpeted aisle, Arthur Vance adjusted his gold cuff links while his attorney arranged three stacks of legal paper.