He laid his hands flat on the metal table the same way he had practiced in the mirror. He breathed out. He could file an emergency motion. He could end the case in the morning.
He could walk into Wakefield's chambers with the death certificate and the survey log and demand a dismissal before the next gavel. He chose not to. He opened the notebook. He wrote one line in pencil.
“Let him build the gallows himself. Bigger ones fall louder.” Walter read the line over his shoulder. For the first time all evening, the old man laughed. A real laugh, low and full.
“Son, you remind me of someone I knew in Korea. The most patient man I ever met. He also won every fight he ever picked.”
Ulisses closed the notebook and stood. “Then tomorrow, sir, I would like you to come to court just to listen. I will call you only if Mr. Sinclair vouches for the contract on the record.”
Walter nodded. “He will.”
“I know.” Walter walked Ulisses to the door.
As the boy stepped out into the night, the old man put a hand on his shoulder. Your great-grandfather, Elias Daniels. Was that man kin to you? Ulisses looked up.
My great-grandfather, sir. Walter let the door open another inch, looked at him a long moment, and shook his head slowly with something like wonder. Well, that makes sense. Three days he stood in that courtroom, son.