I looked up from the glowing screen.

Ethan stood in the center aisle, his fingers clamped tightly around the small metal drive.

The courtroom was so quiet I could hear the hum of the old air conditioning unit in the wall.

“Mr. Mercer,” Judge Vane said, leaning forward over his wooden bench. “State your name and your connection to these proceedings.”

“My name is Ethan Mercer,” he said.

His voice was thin, but it did not waver.

“I am the brother of the petitioner, Grace Mercer.”

Cassandra took a step toward him, her hand outstretched, her fingers trembling.

“Ethan, please,” she said, her voice a harsh whisper. “Think about what you are doing to us. To our future.”

Ethan did not look at her.

He kept his eyes fixed on the judge.

My mother stood by the gallery rail, her face pale under her heavy makeup.

She reached out and grabbed the sleeve of Ethan’s gray suit jacket.

“Ethan, sit down,” she commanded in a low, fierce tone. “You are making a spectacle of this family.”

Ethan gently but firmly pulled his arm away from her grasp.