I was sitting across from Mom and Dad in the glass-walled conference room, the morning light casting a professional glow on what felt like an interrogation room. "He's got his head on straight," Mom said, her fingers drumming a staccato on the table, her lawyer's mind always dissecting angles. "Alex is smart, and capable."

Dad, the eternal skeptic with furrowed brows, leaned back in his chair, his fingers tented in contemplation. "Too capable," he mused, the lines deepening around his ...