Nicholas
The mahogany-paneled courtroom of the Family Law Division felt like an execution chamber.
Outside, rain lashed violently against the high frosted windows, mirroring the circus of press cameras and screaming reporters held back by barricades at the courthouse steps. Inside, the heavy air smelled of old leather, floor wax, and impending ruin.
Faith sat beside me at the defense table. She wore a tailored charcoal wool dress, her arm resting in a dark silk sling to support her fractured shoulder. Her face was pale, but her chin remained lifted, her brown eyes steady despite the sea of hostile eyes watching her from the gallery.
On the opposing side sat my mother, Eleanor Sutton, draped in dark mink, flanked by a sea of top-tier litigators. Beside her sat Victor, looking composed a
