“Yes, Julian,” I murmured. “For the first time in a very long time, I’m perfectly ready.”

Evan’s lead counsel, a theatrical man named Arthur Sterling, launched into his opening statement with the booming cadence of an actor delivering a monologue.

“Your Honor, my client is a pillar of this community, a respected businessman who has endured unimaginable emotional turmoil,” Sterling proclaimed, pacing before the bench.

“His wife, tragically, suffers from a profound and documented history of psychological instability. She abandoned a promising medical career because her fragile constitution could not endure the pressure.

Now, facing the dissolution of her marriage, she has maliciously fabricated these horrific allegations as a tool of financial extortion and vindictive punishment.”

At precisely the right moment, Evan lowered his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as if overwhelmed. In the gallery behind him, Vivian Mercer dabbed at her perfectly dry eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief.