“Mom bought me this for my birthday,” he said. “She sold Great-Grandma’s necklace to get it. I heard you and Grandma talking about it.”
I stared at him.
“It’s not a dirty shirt,” he said. “It’s the most important shirt I have.”
Grant came out of the courtroom a few minutes later.
He was alone. No lawyer. No associates. He walked past us toward the elevator, then stopped.
He turned around and looked at Nolan.
For a moment, I thought he might say something cruel. Or something self-pitying. Or nothing at all.
“Nolan,” he said quietly.
Nolan pressed himself against my side.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” Grant said. His voice was rough. “I’m really sorry.”
Nolan didn’t answer.
Grant looked at me. Then he looked at the stained navy shirt.
“I didn’t know she sold the locket,” he said.
“You never asked,” I said.
He stood there for a long moment. Then he turned and walked to the elevator. The doors closed. And for the first time in two years, I felt like I could breathe.
Part Ten: After
The weeks after the hearing felt strange, like waking up from a long fever.
A legal aid attorney named Monica Reyes called me two days later. She’d heard about the case from someone at the courthouse. She offered to represent me for the rest of the proceedings for free.
“Honestly,” she said, “I’ve wanted to meet that kid ever since I heard about the secret pocket.”
Grant’s financial disclosure was due in thirty days.
When it arrived, Monica spread the pages across her desk and whistled.
