Ethan looked at the security guards, then at the blood on my lip, and finally at the crumpled adoption papers on the tray table. His face darkened with a rage I had never seen in him before. He dropped the coffees, the hot liquid splashing across Margaret’s expensive leather boots.
“I know exactly who she is, Mother,” Ethan said, his voice shaking with pure disgust. “She is a Federal District Judge. She makes three times what I make. The only reason we let you think she was unemployed was because Olivia wanted to see if you would ever treat her like a human being for who she was, not what she did. And you just gave us your answer.”
Margaret stumbled back, looking between Ethan and me as if the ground were shifting beneath her. “A… a federal judge? No. No, that’s impossible. She wears target clothes, she drives a sedan—”
