Behind us, the hallway was packed.
Nurses in scrubs.
Teachers.
Half the senior class in their church clothes.
Tatum Brantford and her father stood near the wall, and Tatum was staring at her shoes.
The courtroom smelled like old wood and floor polish.
At the front, Griffin Ziegler sat at the defense table in a charcoal suit.
Somebody had taken the gold Rolex off his wrist.
He rubbed the pale strip of skin where it used to be.
His attorney, Mr. Montrose, was already on his feet.
“Your Honor, the amendment is valid, properly witnessed, and properly notarized. The Talbot family has no standing to claim otherwise. We ask that the trust be frozen until all questions are resolved.”
Frozen.
Years.
Behind him, in the front row of the gallery, sat Henrietta Ziegler.
Ivory suit.
Birkin on her lap.
Cartier bracelet flashing every time she moved.
She did not look at us.
