She reached for a blue folder on her desk and opened it, scanning the top page.
“I am sorry, Ms. Reed,” she said. “We had to cancel the consultation.”
“Why?” I asked. “I have the papers right here.”
“Mr. Holloway’s attorney filed a formal motion with the county court this morning,” she said, her voice flat. “Our clinic cannot represent clients once a high-conflict custody petition has been officially logged.”
She slid a thick packet of papers across the counter toward me.
“They served us as your registered contact,” she said.
I took the papers, the weight of the heavy bond paper surprisingly solid in my hands. On the front page, printed in bold block letters, was the name of Malcolm Price, Attorney at Law. Below it, the words read: Petition for Sole Physical and Legal Custody.
“What does this mean?” I asked.
“It means you need a private attorney,” she said. “Immediately.”
I walked back down the three flights of stairs, the paper packet tucked under my arm. The evening commute was just beginning, the headlights of the cars on Congress Street forming a long, glowing line of red and white.
