The judge stood in the doorway, watching the whole thing transpire in silence.
Dad cleared his throat, then walked over to his desk. “Please, have a seat.” He motioned to the chair on the opposite side. “Damn shame about Bradshaw.” He shook his head as if he cared about our dead attorney. I knew better. “But hopefully you can clear a few things up for me. Some technicalities.”
Like my three-billion-dollar trust.
He looked over at me. “That’s all, son. Close the door on your way out, would you?”
Gladly.
I shut the door behind me, then pulled out my phone and found Chandler’s name.
“It’s me,” I said when he answered. “He’s coming unhinged. We’re going to need to speed this shit up a bit. Meet me at the club. You know the one.”