It was thin ice.
Savannah leaned forward and whispered, “Marcus, do something.”
The microphone caught that too.
My father’s pen stopped.
Marcus heard it.
Bennett heard it.
Savannah did not.
She was too used to rooms rearranging themselves around her.
My father set down the proposed order.
“Mr. Ashford, why would your client require approval over Mrs. Vale’s obstetrician?”
Bennett exhaled slowly.
“Given Mrs. Vale’s mental state—”
“Evidence.”
“Your Honor, we have affidavits from household staff describing erratic behavior.”
Claire laughed under her breath.
Judge Whitmore looked at her.
She stopped.
But barely.
Bennett opened one of his binders.