“Sit down, Mr.

Whitmore,” Judge Miller warned, bringing her gavel down with a sharp crack.

Cole dropped back into his chair, his jaw locked tight as Mercer sat back down in the gallery.

At a quarter to twelve, the court took a short recess while the clerk filed the corporate audit folders.

In the gallery behind us, the wooden bench creaked as Sierra stood up.

She smoothed her cream blazer, tucked her leather handbag under her arm, and walked quickly down the center aisle.