Chapter 71 Tristan

• Tristan
• I hate courts—always have. The snooty faces of the lawyers, the criminals dressed in uncomfortable suits, unsmiling faces, and fluorescent lights. I hate everything about the court, and I hate the Fishers for putting me through this.
• I should be at the construction site, but here I am, sitting in the closed courtroom amidst murmurs and shuffles of paper. The judge, a shapely older woman with a red face, peers over her round glasses at us. My lawyer, Joan Kinnaman, is scribbling something on a sheet, and I don’t bother looking at it.