“Your father left specific instructions that folder six must only be opened after the court ruling was finalized,” Samuel said.

The bailiff held the heavy wooden doors open for us as we walked out into the air-conditioned hallway.

Samuel walked two paces ahead of me, his leather ledger tucked firmly under his arm.

We didn’t stop in the corridor to speak to the reporters or the cousins who had gathered near the drinking fountains.

“We will finish the final disclosures in my office, Elena,” Samuel said, stepping into the elevator.

By three o’clock the afternoon sun was pressing against the tall blinds in Samuel’s office on Maple Avenue.