Then, Judge Morrison stopped. He held up a single sheet of paper. He looked at it, squinting slightly, then he looked at Trevor. And then, he did something that made the air in the room change instantly.
He chuckled.
It wasn’t a nice laugh. It was a dry, incredulous sound, like a car engine trying to turn over in winter. He covered his mouth with his hand, but his eyes were dancing with a mix of disbelief and dark amusement.
“I apologize,” the judge said, clearing his throat, though the smile lingered in his eyes. “In twenty years on the bench, I thought I had seen every variety of hubris. But this… Dr. Bennett, this is truly something special.”
Trevor stiffened, his perfect posture faltering. “Your Honor? I don’t understand.”
“Sit down, Dr. Bennett,” the judge commanded, his voice suddenly sharp, slicing through Trevor’s confusion. “We are going to take a thirty-minute recess. I need to review these figures in detail. And I strongly suggest, Doctor, that you use this time to consult with your attorney about the legal definition of a ‘promissory note.’”
Trevor’s face drained of color, turning the shade of old paste. “Promissory note?”
But the judge was already standing up, gathering my files with a protectiveness that made my heart soar.
I turned around and walked back to my seat. I didn’t look at the floor. I looked right at Trevor. He looked like a man who had just realized he was standing on a trapdoor that had already been triggered.
I sat down, folded my hands over my empty lap, and waited for the axe to fall.
