It made me sick to look at it.

Directly behind him in the gallery sat Rachel. The last thirty days had not been kind to her. The Cancun tan had faded to a sickly pallor, and dark, exhausted circles framed her eyes.

The fantasy of a wealthy, stolen life had crashed into the brutal reality of frozen assets and cheap motels. Ellison stood and offered Lauren a tight, professional smile.

“Morning, Lauren. Hear you’re coming out swinging.” “I’m just presenting the weather report, Mark,” Lauren replied coolly. “If your client chose to stand in a hurricane, that’s his problem.”

The bailiff barked the room to order. Judge Eleanor Whitmore took the bench. She was a woman in her late sixties, iron-gray hair pulled into a severe bun, and a reputation for zero tolerance of courtroom theatrics.

“Let’s dispense with the preamble,” Judge Whitmore commanded, adjusting her reading glasses. “Mr. Ellison, opening remarks.” Ellison stood, buttoning his jacket.