As I reach for the knob, the deputy who escorted Quentin starts to challenge me, but after recognizing me and seeing the look in my eye, he backs off.

“Mrs. Evans,” I say, “we might get loud in there.”

The secretary picks up her purse and comes around the desk. “Of course, Mr. Mayor. I have an errand to run anyway. Please just lock the door when you leave.”

“I will.”

Opening the inner door, I see Quentin seated at the window of the private office, looking out at the Eola Hotel four blocks away.

“I told you it was going to get worse before it gets better,” he says. Then he turns to me, and I see fatigue and pain in his eyes. The shock of white hair looks less theatrical from up close, and more the result of old age.

“Go ahead,” he says with resignation. “Speak your piece.”

Only then do I notice Doris standing in the corner of the office, looking as though she’s been crying.

“I gave you half a day,” I say evenly. “Your time’s up.”

“I haven’t even given my opening statement.”

“You’re not going to give it. You’re done, Quentin. I’m sorry.” I look over at Doris, who appears profoundly shaken. “That man should never have been allowed on the stand.”

“That depends on your point of view,” Quentin says.

“Well, from the point of view of a lawyer, the sum total of Major Powers’s testimony was inadmissible. And you could have stopped it with a single objection.”

“Your father won’t fire me, Penn.”

I move to my right, demanding that he look me in the eye. “I hope I won’t have to ask him to. I’m asking you to step aside, as a point of honor.”

Quentin takes a long breath, sighs heavily. “Tell me something. If you take over Tom’s case, how are you going to begin?”

“By finding out what happened that night, and building a case from there.”

“Tom won’t tell you.”

“After what just happened in court, he might.”

“You’re wrong. A little spit isn’t much to a man who’s faced gunfire.”

“That wasn’t just spit. That was contempt. And contempt can maim a man like Dad worse than bullets can.”