The security guard at the metal detector didn’t ask us for our IDs.

He simply nodded and pointed toward the elevators.

“Fourth floor,” the guard said. “They’re waiting.”

The elevator ride was silent, the hum of the cables the only sound in the small metal box.

When the doors opened, the hallway was completely empty.

Our footsteps echoed loudly on the polished linoleum floors.

We reached Room 412, and Nathan pushed the heavy oak door open.

The courtroom inside was small and dimly lit, unlike the grand chambers downstairs.

Judge Vance sat behind a elevated wooden desk, her spectacles resting on the tip of her nose.

She was reviewing a thick stack of papers under a single brass lamp.

To the right sat Grant and his mother, Evelyn.

Grant’s tie was loosened, his hair messy, and his eyes red-rimmed.

Evelyn sat perfectly erect, her diamond rings catching the yellow light as she gripped her purse.

Their attorney, a tall man in a grey suit, was whispering frantically in Grant’s ear.

“Ah, Mrs. Carter, Mr. Cole,” Judge Vance said, her voice dry and commanding. “Sit.”