She listened for a moment, her eyes darting from Trevor to me.

She muttered a brief response, hung up, and immediately leaned over to whisper in Judge Whitaker’s ear.

The judge listened without moving a muscle.

He nodded once, dismissing her, and looked back down at the papers on his bench.

The silence in the courtroom was so heavy I could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

My hands gripped the edges of the wooden podium.

The varnish was worn smooth where countless others had stood before me.

“Mr. Pike,” Judge Whitaker said, his voice echoing off the wood-paneled walls.

Trevor stood up slowly, his hands resting flat on the table in front of him.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Trevor said.

His voice lacked the oily confidence he had used during his testimony earlier that morning.

“These financial affidavits you submitted to this court,” Judge Whitaker said, tapping a finger on the blue binder. “They are sworn under penalty of perjury.”

“They are, Your Honor,” Trevor’s attorney said, trying to step in.

“I am speaking to your client, Counselor,” the judge snapped.