The court hearing was scheduled for nine o’clock the next morning.

I did not sleep that night.

I sat in the dark, watching the headlights of passing cars sweep across my ceiling.

At eight in the morning, Carlos drove me to the Dallas County Courthouse.

The morning heat was already rising from the asphalt, shimmering in the bright Texas sun.

Marcus met me on the limestone steps of the courthouse.

He looked sharp in his dark gray suit, holding a leather briefcase.

“Are you ready for this, Jocelyn?” he asked.

“I have been ready for years, Marcus,” I said.

We walked inside, the cool air conditioning of the building hitting my face.

We entered Courtroom 302.

Gloria Ralston was already sitting at the defense table.

She wore a cream-colored Chanel suit and her signature pearl necklace.

Her posture was rigid, her chin held high as if she still owned the room.

Graham sat next to her, looking pale and chewing on his lower lip.

Their attorney, a senior partner at one of the oldest firms in Dallas, was shuffling through papers.