PART 3
The courthouse steps were bright with morning sun, which felt almost insulting after the storm.
Everett was already there when we arrived.
He leaned against a silver Porsche in a charcoal suit, sunglasses tucked into his jacket pocket, smiling as if divorce were a product launch. Vivian stood beside him in a cream coat, her blond hair swept into a low, elegant knot. She looked fresh, expensive, and victorious.
A photographer from some society page hovered near the curb. Everett pretended not to notice him.
That was Everett’s favorite kind of performance.
Accidental publicity.
“Claire,” he said as I approached. “You’re punctual. I’ll give you that.”
Noah was not with me. He was at home with June, sitting in front of a secure console, drinking chocolate milk from a cup with dinosaurs on it.
“Good morning, Everett,” I said.
Vivian offered me a smile polished enough to cut glass. “I hope you slept.”
“I did.”
She seemed disappointed.
Everett looked past me. “Where’s the boy?”
“Our son is safe.”
He winced at the word our.
