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McKinney, it’s Reesa Davis from Child Protection. I’m here to take Pete where he can be cared for.”
    Ms. McKinney called, “Coming, I’m coming,” with a thick Jamaican accent.
    The chain rattled, the door opened, and Ms. McKinney opened the door. She was an older woman, with white cottony hair, dressed in a faded housedress and slippers. “Poor children. I didn’t know. I didn’t see until today.” She stepped back to let Reesa in.
    â€œIt’s not your fault. You were brave to come forward. If you have any trouble because of this, call this number.” She handed the old woman her card. “If you fear for your safety, call 911 immediately.”
    â€œAlways fear for my safety here.”
    â€œI’m going to have a colleague of mine give you a call, and see if we can do something about that, okay?”
    Ms. McKinney nodded and shuffled back to the kitchen where Pete sat at a scrubbed kitchen table, clutching a loaf of bread.
    â€œHi, Pete,” Reesa said, trying not to let her voice betray her.
    â€œShe said I could have it,” Pete said, nodding to Ms. McKinney. “I didn’t steal it.”
    â€œYou sure can have it,” the old woman said in a lilting way that in spite of the horror of the situation had a calming effect on both Reesa and Pete.
    â€œYour brothers are waiting for you downstairs, Pete,” Reesa said. “We’re going to a place where you can get cleaned up and eat and stay until everything is better.”
    Pete shook his head.
    â€œYour brothers are waiting for you.”
    â€œCan’t go.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œGotta take care of her.”
    Reesa froze. “Your sister? Pete, do you have a sister?”
    Pete shook his head. “My mama.”
    Reesa and Ms. McKinney exchanged looks over Pete’s head.
    There were no words.
    â€œPete, your mama’s going to someplace to get help. Someone will look after her.”
    He seemed to crumple, too tired and malnourished to argue. He let Reesa lead him to the ambulance, but he wouldn’t let go of that loaf of bread.

Chapter 3
    I lona Cartwright dropped her files into her briefcase and snapped it shut. It felt good to win. Fortunately she usually did. Actually fortune didn’t have much to do with it. She was good. She worked hard for her clients. Harder than most of them understood. And harder than some of them deserved.
    Today’s clients, armed with hugs and tears and thank-yous, had already left the courtroom, and the next case was ready to take their place.
    â€œNice work, Counselor.”
    Ilona nodded an acknowledgment to Barry O’Doul who was up next. She didn’t much like Barry, all show and not enough jurisprudence for Ilona’s taste. She’d seen him work a jury until they were completely befuddled and doing it without one proven fact. All he lacked was a top hat and ringmaster whip.
    He exuded confidence, like he had a case all wrapped up before he even entered the courtroom, but beneath the show, there was almost always flaky evidentiary support.
    Ilona didn’t have that problem.
    â€œAll yours,” she said and slid her briefcase off the table.
    Another pro bono case cleared. Another family reunited, at least until they fell on the next hard time or got deported. But her work was done.
    The only decision she had to make now was whether to go back to the office before she went home and what wine to have with dinner while she read over the brief for her next divorce case.
    It was going to be a circus. Lots of money on the table. Several houses to haggle over. Lies and innuendos volleying back and forth. Her client had sued for the divorce, the husband had countersued. And the fun really began.
    He was a piece of work; then again so was his wife. At least there were no children to suffer.
    Ilona didn’t like either of them very much. She would do her best for her client regardless. But she