Two uniformed federal marshals came down the center aisle and took positions behind Cole’s chair.

One marshal put a hand on Cole’s shoulder, keeping him seated as the court party got ready to leave.

I closed my notebook, put it in my leather handbag, and stood up beside my father and Daniel.

I turned toward the rear exit and walked past the defense table without stopping or looking down.

Cole sat alone at the defense table while the cuffs on his wrists flashed in the courtroom lights.

My father stood by the marble entryway with a clipboard while two men in gray uniforms carried our last wardrobe boxes into the freight elevator.