His hands shook so badly he could not button his vest. Sarah Mitchell stood up and walked out of the courtroom. She had to call her editor. The story she had been told to write was no longer the story she was about to file.
Ulisses turned very slowly to Judge Harrison Wakefield. He stepped back from the lectern. He did not lift onto the balls of his feet anymore. He stood flat, square, and full.
“Your Honor,” he said. The clock read 10:33. The plaintiff's case rests on a contract notarized by a man eight months in his grave, referencing a parcel survey number that would not exist for another year and a half and certified before this court under your eye by counsel who vouched for it without reservation. The defense moves for dismissal with prejudice, and the defense further moves that this matter and Mr. Sinclair personally be referred to the district attorney for review of criminal forgery and conspiracy.
In the breast pocket of his suit, Henry Walker's handkerchief sat folded into a tight white triangle. In the inside pocket, against his ribs, rested Eleanor's wooden cross. Ten minutes. That was all it took. Judge Harrison Wakefield did not speak for almost a full minute.
He looked at the affidavit. He looked at the death certificate. He looked at the survey record. He looked finally at Bradford Sinclair, who could not meet his eyes.
And then at last, he looked at the boy in the oversized navy suit. Then he did something he had not done in thirty-four years on the bench. He stood up.
“The motion to dismiss with prejudice is granted. The court finds the plaintiff's Exhibit A facially fraudulent. This matter is referred to the district attorney's office for full criminal review, and Mr. Sinclair is named personally in that referral.” He paused. “Counselor Daniels.” Ulisses lifted his head.
“The court owes you an apology and, frankly, an education in humility.” The room stayed very still. Wakefield did not sit back down. He spoke instead to the gallery, to the reporters in the back row, to the law student, to the mother and her daughter, and to everyone who had ever been told to sit down before they had spoken.