The bold heading across the top read Draft Guardianship Authorization, and it carried my father’s signature, dated three days before the hearing.

A heavy wooden crack rang out from the high bench at the front of the courtroom.

Judge Margaret Reynolds lowered her reading glasses down her nose and brought her wooden gavel down a second time.

“That’s enough wrestling in my courtroom, Commander,” Judge Reynolds said, her gravelly voice filling the room.

I let go of Bradley’s wrist at once and stepped back two paces into parade rest, my combat boots planted firmly on the hardwood.

Bradley shoved himself upright, his breath coming in ragged wheezes as he tried to straighten his twisted silk tie.