Ten minutes later than he should have, Shad points at my father with the accusatory fire I always summoned in the courtroom. “That man there,” he says with what sounds like genuinely righteous anger, “held the power of life and death over a powerless patient—a patient he had exploited in the most shameful way possible—and he exercised that power solely to protect himself. He chose to take her life. He meticulously planned the crime, and he ruthlessly carried it out. Were it not for the conscience of Viola’s sister, the anger of Viola’s son, and the random chance of an accidental video recording being made, Dr. Cage would have gotten away with it. But if we do our duty here this week, he will not get away with it. Before this trial is over, you will know in your heart that Tom Cage committed murder in the first degree, that he is as guilty of that crime as any man can be.”

While Shad stands with his finger still pointing at my father, I turn slightly to my right and see that Mom has gone pale, so pale that I worry she might slide off her chair onto the floor.

“Mom?” I whisper. “Do you need to leave?”

She shakes her head, but her color does not return. While I try to figure out how to help her, my cell phone vibrates in my pocket. As covertly as possible, I take it out. It’s Serenity. Her text reads: You need to get home. Dolores is losing her shit. She can’t reach Cleotha Booker by phone.

The heels of Shad Johnson’s Italian shoes click on the hardwood floor as he walks back to the prosecutor’s table. As quickly as I can, I type: Can u handle her for 20 minutes? I need to hear Q’s opening statement. Call Carl Sims and have him check on CB.

Judge Elder says, “Mr. Avery, you may begin your opening statement.”

Tried Carl already, Serenity replies. Got voice mail. Trying him again. FYI Dolores freaking out is upsetting Annie. Mia handling that.

“Mom, I have to help Serenity with Dolores,” I say into her ear. “Don’t lose your faith. Quentin is worth ten of Shad Johnson. They don’t call him ‘Preacher’ for nothing. He’s going to stand up and pull that whole jury right into the palm of his hand.”

“I don’t know,” Mom whispers. “I’m frightened, Penn.”

“Don’t be. Quentin can talk to a jury like a father to his adult children, and thunder like Moses come down from the mountaintop. You watch. Shad Johnson won’t ever forget this day.”

“Mr. Avery, are you ready?” Judge Elder repeats.

The click of an electric brake echoes in the courtroom, and Quentin’s wheelchair whirs softly for about three seconds. Then the legendary voice speaks in a soft and passionless tone.