Daniel sat at the head of the dark mahogany table, a silver teapot and two china cups on a tray between his legal pads.

I laid Cole’s proposed custody agreement on the blotter in front of him.

Daniel didn’t touch the paper right away.

He sat back, took off his gold-rimmed glasses, and cleaned the lenses with a folded silk pocket square for three full seconds.

“He told me Sierra was fired on Friday,” I said, sitting down in the leather armchair across from him.

“And you found out otherwise?” Daniel asked, putting his glasses back on over his quiet blue eyes.