What we got was a civil hearing room on the fourth floor of a building that smelled of recycled air and old carpet.
A judge who looked like she had seen every variety of family dispute and had long since stopped being surprised by any of them.
Douglas sat at the opposing table with his attorney, a man named Pryce who wore his confidence like a second suit.
Douglas himself was composed.
He glanced at me once when I sat down, then looked away.
Hale had prepared me for two hours the night before.
He had gone through every document, every likely objection, every moment where Douglas’s side might try to introduce doubt.
He had been calm and precise and had said, at the end: “The evidence is on our side.
The only question is whether we can keep it simple enough that the other side can’t bury it in procedure.”
