The door opened, and a man in a gray trench coat stepped out.

It was Martin Voss.

He carried a thick leather briefcase under his arm.

He did not look at Callum or Vivian.

He walked straight toward our car.

I rolled the window down all the way.

“Mr. Voss,” I said.

“Mrs. Prescott,” he replied, nodding to me.

Callum rushed over, grabbing Voss by the shoulder.

“Martin! Thank god,” Callum said. “Call the judge. Get this injunction lifted. They locked us out.”

Voss stopped and looked at Callum’s hand on his coat.

Callum slowly let go.

“I am no longer your counsel, Callum,” Voss said.

The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of the rain.

“What?” Callum whispered.

“I filed my motion to withdraw with the clerk thirty minutes ago,” Voss said.

“You can’t do that,” Callum said, his voice rising. “The custody hearing is tomorrow!”

“I cannot represent a client who has engaged in systematic fraud and perjury,” Voss said.

Vivian walked down the steps, her wet heels clicking on the stone.

“We pay your firm a three-million-dollar retainer, Martin,” she said.