Page 326 of The Lies We Play

It’s the voice he uses when giving less feels safer than giving anything real.

“Were you married to this woman on February ninth, ten years ago, in this state?”

“I was.”

“Do you remember the ceremony?”

“I don’t remember the ceremony, Your Honor. I remember the certificate. I have been shown it within the last twenty-four hours. My signature is on it.”

“Do you contest its authenticity?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Thank you.”

She closes tab one.

She doesn’t look at the Saint Claire table.

“Tab three contains the audio file,” she says. “Counsel for the petitioner has indicated it will be played in court. Are there objections?”

Whelan stands.

“Your Honor, we object to foundation⁠—”

“Overruled.”

Whelan sits.

The recording is forty-one seconds long.

Forty-one seconds of Whit Whelan’s voice telling someone—a woman whose voice doesn’t appear on the recording, but whose responses are documented in the transcript on page eleven of tab three—that the family is prepared to be generous if the right understandings are reached quickly. The window for these understandings closes when the daughter wakes up. After that, the family will have to consider what other resources are available, and the family has considerable resources.

Forty-one seconds.

That’s all.

Enough to take the temperature out of the room.

Whelan doesn’t look at the speakers.

Constance is looking at Halston.

Halston is looking at the table.

I’m looking at my own hands because if I look at Constance too long, I’m going to forget I’m supposed to remain civilized.

When the audio cuts, Judge Reyes lets the silence sit for four seconds.

Then she says, “Tab six. Bank records. Counsel.”

Fitz walks her through the wire. Eleven emails. A British Virgin Islands account. Ninety-six hours after the accident. The numbers aren’t read aloud. The judge has read them. Fitz says only, “Your Honor, the amounts are consistent with the testimony in tab seven,” and Judge Reyes nods once and moves on.

Tab eight is the notary.

Fitz says, “Your Honor, the conservatorship paperwork that placed Mr. Saint Claire under the care of his stepmother was notarized using a stamp registered to a notary public whose death certificate appears on the second page of tab eight. The stamp was used eleven months after she died. The notarization is therefore facially invalid, and any actions taken pursuant to it—including the transfer of medical decision-making, the holding of Mr. Saint Claire in a Connecticut facility for fourteen months following the accident, and the freezing of his independent financial accounts—are void ab initio.”

Judge Reyes says, “Counsel for the respondent.”