Lawrence Vance set his leather briefcase on the floor, clicked open a gold pocket watch, checked the time, and snapped it shut with a sharp metallic pop.

“Valerie, I prefer to handle family matters before they reach a clerk’s docket,” he said.

His voice was smooth, with the practiced polish of an expensive defense lawyer used to private settlements.

“Your father asked me to stop by before you make an unnecessary mistake.”

“My son has a severe displaced fracture,” I said quietly.

“Children fall down,” Vance said, waving a hand with manicured nails.

“It happens on plush area rugs every day.