Ten minutes later, the heavy glass doors of the entrance swung open.

My mother walked in, accompanied by a tall man in a tailored gray overcoat.

He carried a leather briefcase and walked with the smooth, quiet steps of a high-priced defense attorney.

They walked straight to the clerk’s desk, ignoring us completely.

“We are here to post bail for Richard Davis,” the lawyer said, his voice carrying across the tiled room.

I stood up, taking a step toward the counter.

“The judge hasn’t even set bail yet,” I said.

The lawyer turned, giving me a brief, polite nod that didn’t reach his eyes.

“The duty judge reviewed the emergency petition twenty minutes ago,” the lawyer said. “Bail was set at fifty thousand dollars.”

My mother reached into her handbag and pulled out a certified bank draft.

“Paid in full,” she said, sliding the paper under the glass window to the clerk.

Wyatt stepped up beside me, his brow furrowed as he looked at the document.

“Where did you get fifty thousand dollars on Sunday night, Eleanor?” Wyatt asked.