“He’s finished being fed their mess of liberal, left-leaning—”
“Roger.” Harder this time.
Grey said, “Perhaps I should handle this.”
His father leaned back. Smoldering.
“Now then,” Grey said. “The only possible way the academy can hope to avoid a lengthy and potentially damaging set of proceedings is to relinquish their hold—”
“Point of order,” Roland said. “Actually, two points. First, my client is no longer a student at the academy.”
The news clearly rattled the older attorney. “Your client, did you say?”
“That is correct.”
“You have taken a juvenile, a preadolescent, as your pro bono client?”
“There is nothing pro bono about Colin Eames, I assure you.”
“Who is paying his legal bills?”
“That is none of your concern.” Roland reached into his case and drew out a single thick file. He opened the cover and handed over the first page. “What should be of immediate interest, Counselor, is the fact that my client is now a student at UNC Wilmington.”
Grey made no move to accept the page. “But … the child is twelve years old.”
“At least on that point you are correct.” When no one reached forward, Roland let the page fall onto the desk. “May I proceed?”
Reluctantly Grey picked up the paper, studied it intently. The third man pushed off the rear wall and took the page from him. A flicker of those frozen eyes, then he dropped the sheet back on the desk.
Roland went on, “We are here because my client intends to enter into proceedings, in open court, to divorce his father.”
The man in the corner asked, “Can they do that?”
“No,” Roger growled. “They can’t and they won’t.” Heglared across the desk at Roland. “You can dress that boy up in whatever fancy clothes you like. I’m still the one in charge.”
“Respectfully, sir, that is not the case,” Roland replied. “Nor has it been for the past six years.”
“The very concept isabsurd! The child istwelve years old!” Grey’s flush now covered his entire face. “In North Carolina the minimum age for legal emancipation is …”
“Sixteen,” Roland supplied. “That is simply the current legal standard. We intend to challenge that ruling.” His gaze swiveled to the man in the corner. “All the way to the state Supreme Court if need be.”
Grey looked genuinely affronted over how control had been ripped from his grasp. “This isinsane.”
“I assure you, it is not.” Roland gestured to Celeste. “My esteemed colleague, Dr. Celeste Talbot, is a senior executive with the state’s Child Services. She will serve as the child’s legal guardian until he reaches his maturity.”
“No she won’t.” Roger’s scarred right fist began beating time on the desk. “That boy ismy son. I haveevery right—”
“To do what?” Celeste’s rage was so intense, she did not need to raise her voice to silence the room. “Fashion this young man into a puppet to suit your political aims? Did you even hear what your son’s attorney just said? Colin Eames is studying graduate-level mathematics at university.”
“I want himhome.” Roger’s voice had dropped a full octave.
“You’d better get used to the idea that it’s not happening,” Celeste said. “Because it’snothis home. And this child isnotgoing to become your prize trophy.”
“We would of course prefer to handle this quietly.” Roland set a sheaf of papers on the desk separating them. “But as you will see here, the court documents have been prepared. Either you agree to this—what shall we call it, disentanglement?—or—”
The man in the corner said, “We need time to discuss—”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Roger snarled.