“Mr. Prescott,” Judge Mallory warned, her voice dropping an octave. “Sit down.”

Vivian pulled Callum by the sleeve, forcing him into a chair.

Her eyes darted to the thick binder on the judge’s desk, and then to me.

She knew exactly what was in those pages.

“Your Honor, this is a violation of my rights,” Callum said, his voice trembling with anger. “Mr. Voss is my attorney. He cannot present private communications.”

“The attorney-client privilege does not protect a client who seeks advice to commit a crime or fraud, Mr. Prescott,” Judge Mallory said.

She closed the binder with a heavy thud that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.

“Mr. Voss has provided sufficient evidence to suggest that your communications were used to facilitate unlawful surveillance and medical coercion,” she said.

“That is a lie,” Callum said, standing up again. “Avery is unstable. She needs medical supervision. Ask her doctor.”

“We tried to contact Dr. Whitaker,” Arthur Vance spoke up from our table.

The judge looked over at Arthur. “And?”

“His office phone is disconnected, and his personal cell went dead after a reported vehicular accident fifteen minutes ago,” Arthur said.