Margaret Bennett sat in her high-backed green velvet armchair in the townhouse library, a silver tea tray on the mahogany table beside her.

Her silver-tipped cane rested against her knee, and her hands lay folded in her lap on top of a thick folder of white legal papers.

Daniel Harris sat across from her, cleaning his gold-rimmed glasses with a silk pocket square before putting them back on.

“The judge signed the final decree at four fifteen,” Daniel said, looking up as I came in.

“The sole custody order is filed, and the trust division has completely cut off Cole’s access.”