Judge Halloway nodded to the bailiff. He walked over slowly and held out his hand. Nolan carefully placed the tiny card in his palm, like he was handing over a baby bird.
“Thank you, Nolan,” the judge said. “That was very brave. You can sit down now, next to your mom.”
Nolan climbed back into his chair. He was shaking.
I put my arm around him and held on.
“We’ll take a thirty-minute recess,” Judge Halloway said. “Counsel and both parties, I’ll want to see you in chambers. We’ll review this together.”
She looked at Nolan one more time.
“And somebody,” she said, “get this young man a cup of hot chocolate.”
Part Seven: In Chambers
The judge’s chambers were small and warm, with bookshelves to the ceiling and a framed photograph of two golden retrievers on the desk.
Grant sat in a chair by the window. Mr. Carroway sat beside him with his briefcase on his lap. I sat across from them with my folder. A court officer set up a laptop on the corner of the judge’s desk.
Nolan stayed in the hallway with a court-appointed guardian, a kind woman named Mrs. Delgado, who had brought him hot chocolate and a coloring book about national parks.
The officer put the memory card into the laptop.
There were dozens of short videos on it. Dinosaur battles. A video of a squirrel outside Grant’s window. A video of Nolan explaining the planets to his stuffed rabbit.
Then a long one. Twenty-three minutes. Dated the previous Saturday at 8:14 p.m.
The judge clicked play.
At first, all you could see was a plastic T-rex standing on a wooden desk. Nolan’s voice made roaring sounds from off camera. Then a stegosaurus came into the frame, and there was a battle, with a lot of very serious sound effects.
Then you heard a door open.
Then Grant’s voice.
“Hey, Jerry. Yeah, it’s me.”
The camera was behind a desk lamp. You could see part of Grant’s shoulder and the back of his head as he sat down in his office chair. He clearly didn’t notice the tablet. He was facing the window.
“Yeah, I got your message,” Grant said. “Monday’s perfect. He goes back to her Monday morning. I’ll make sure he’s wearing that shirt.”
There was a pause while the other person talked.
“No, no, I’m not washing it,” Grant said. He laughed. “That’s the whole point. Tessa spilled spaghetti all over it tonight. It looks great. Get the shot when he comes out of school. Close up. Make it look bad.”
On the laptop, a small hand appeared at the edge of the frame, holding the T-rex very still.
“And hey,” Grant said. “Carroway’s going to want the stuff about the cleaning job. Did Clay write it up the way I told him?”
Another pause.
“Good,” Grant said. “Desk stuff. Missing items. Whatever. Doesn’t have to be true, it just has to be on paper. She can’t afford a lawyer. Nobody’s going to check.”
I put my hand over my mouth.
Grant, sitting by the window, closed his eyes.
On the screen, his voice kept going.
“And the landlord’s all set,” he said. “Pruitt took the five hundred. He wrote the letter. Unsanitary. Not appropriate for a minor. Her mother irons dish towels, Jerry, it’s ridiculous. But it’ll look good in a binder.”
He laughed again.
“Two more weeks,” he said. “Then I get the kid, I don’t pay a dime in support, and she can go back to waiting tables. Win-win.”
The video kept playing for another minute. Grant talked about golf. Then he hung up and left the room.
The camera stayed on the desk lamp. After a long moment, the small hand came back into the frame. It picked up the T-rex. Then the camera shook, as if someone small had grabbed it and was holding it very tightly.
Then Nolan’s voice, very quiet, almost a whisper.
“That’s not true,” he said. “Mom doesn’t take stuff. Grandma irons everything.”
The video ended.
Nobody spoke for a long time.
Judge Halloway took off her reading glasses and set them on the desk. She looked at Grant. She looked at him the way you’d look at something you found on the bottom of your shoe.
Then she turned to Mr. Carroway.
“Counsel,” she said. “Did you know about any of this?”
Mr. Carroway’s face was gray.
“No, Your Honor,” he said quietly. “I did not.”
He turned and looked at his client.
“Mr. Bellamy,” he said, “I’m going to need to speak with you privately. And then I’m going to need to speak with my firm.”
Grant finally opened his eyes.
He looked at me across the room. For the first time in two years, he actually looked at me.
“Laurel,” he said. “I can explain.”
“No, you can’t,” I said.
It was the calmest I’d felt in months.
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