“Then let the state banking authorities deal with it after the November twentieth audit,” Holt said.

“You walk past that bailiff today in violation of a court order, and your career is finished.

I can’t shield you from command.”

He hung up before I could ask anything else.

The heavy brass clock over the courthouse security checkpoint read three minutes after nine when I cleared the metal detector and climbed the wide marble staircase to the second floor.

Richard sat on the polished oak bench right across from the double doors of Courtroom 3B.