Dominic’s lead attorney, Harrison Baxter, was a man who wore professional calm like a suit of armor, his silver tie perfectly knotted and his documents divided by pristine colored tabs. He had reviewed his opening statement until it felt like an inevitable truth, confident that a signed prenuptial agreement and a husband with vast resources would make for a very short morning.
Harrison viewed the wife as a mere obstacle, a woman with no family network and a murky past who had allowed the public to define her through years of silence. He had built a lucrative career by dismantling people exactly like her, and he saw no reason why today would be any different.
At nine-thirty-seven, the judge entered the room and the assembly rose in unison. Judge Lawrence Whitfield was not a man given to sentiment, having spent decades watching people hide their pettiness behind legal jargon and false tears.
He took his seat and adjusted his glasses, scanning the docket with an expression that suggested he was entirely immune to the prestige of the people standing before him. When he called the matter of Thorne versus Sinclair, the energy in the room shifted into a sharp, hungry focus.