The heavy humidity of the Richmond afternoon hit us immediately, thick with the smell of exhaust and hot asphalt.

“What is it, Mom?” Caroline asked, her hand resting on the canvas strap of her satchel.

I showed her the glowing screen of my phone.

“An unauthorized access attempt on your trust account,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Caroline did not panic.

She took the phone from my hand with her left hand, her thumb moving across the glass with practiced, steady taps.

“He tried to initiate an emergency wire transfer twenty-two minutes ago,” she said, her voice cool and analytical.

“While we were still inside the courtroom,” I said, the realization settling like lead in my stomach.

“Yes,” she replied, handing the phone back to me. “But the dual-authorization lock we set up with the bank manager yesterday held. He is locked out permanently now.”

Behind us, the heavy glass doors of the courthouse hissed open again.

Thomas stumbled out into the bright sunlight, his tie pulled loose and his collar damp with sweat.