Faith closed the browser.

“Tell the chief I’ll accept temporary courthouse security. Nothing at home unless there’s a specific threat.”

Maya nodded.

“And the interviews?”

“No.”

“Even national?”

“Especially national.”

Maya started for the door.

“Wait.”

She turned.

Faith looked at the suppression docket that had contained Holloway’s name.

“Get me the public docket history for cases in which Holloway testified in this district.”

Maya paused.

“How far back?”

“As far as the database goes.”

“Are you sure you should be looking at that?”

Faith looked at her.

“No. Which is why you’re not bringing me evidence for me to investigate.”

Maya waited.

Faith continued.

“I want only enough to know whether I have other recusal obligations. Nothing more.”

Maya nodded slowly.

“That distinction may not survive on television.”

“I’m not judging television.”

That afternoon, Sergeant Nolan Price sat across from two Internal Affairs investigators.

They played the body-camera footage without comment.

Price watched himself arrive.

He watched Holloway say the paperwork might be fake.

He watched himself recognize Faith.

He watched the cuffs come off.

Then the investigator rewound the footage.

Not to the arrest.

To something earlier.

Holloway had not started recording at the beginning of the stop.

The body camera activated forty-seven seconds after Faith’s vehicle came to rest.

“What happened before activation?” the investigator asked.

Price looked at Holloway’s written report.

“According to him, she was slow to pull over.”

The investigator tapped the screen.

“Dispatch GPS indicates she stopped twenty-one seconds after the emergency lights activated.”

Price said nothing.

“Anything else?”

“He claimed she made furtive movements.”

“Video starts with both hands visible.”

“Yes.”

The investigator slid another document forward.

“The plate check happened after she was handcuffed.”

Price stared at the timestamp.

He already knew.

Seeing it printed felt different.

“Sergeant, when you arrived, did you believe Officer Holloway had a lawful basis to detain her?”

Price’s mouth went dry.

“At first.”

“And after?”

Price looked toward the dark monitor.

“No.”

“Why didn’t you stop the citation?”

“She asked him to write it.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Price sat very still.

Because stopping it would have meant openly admitting what had happened.

Because he had spent eighteen years learning how to correct officers without humiliating them.

Because he had confused preserving authority with preserving legitimacy.

“I should have.”

The investigator nodded once.

Price understood that answer would follow him.

It should.

Part III — The Pattern

Three days after the arrest, Faith received a sealed letter through chambers.

No return address.

No signature.

Inside were four case numbers.

Nothing else.

She looked at them once, then placed the paper face down.

Maya stood across the desk.

“That feels ominous.”

“It feels improper.”

“You want me to give it to security?”

“Yes.”

Faith paused.

“And to the chief judge.”

Maya picked it up by the edge.

“Do you know what the numbers are?”

“No.”

That was technically true.

She had recognized the format.

Federal criminal cases.

The temptation to search them had arrived immediately.

She did not.

That afternoon, Chief Judge Robert Ames came to her chambers.

He closed the door.

“The case numbers all involve stops by Holloway.”

Faith said nothing.

Ames sat down.

“Three defendants pleaded guilty. One case was dismissed.”

“Why?”

“Suppression issue. Holloway’s account conflicted with dash-camera footage.”

Faith looked toward the window.

The chief judge continued.

“The U.S. Attorney’s Office is reviewing every federal case in which he was a material witness.”

“That’s appropriate.”

“They’re also reviewing Price.”

Faith looked at him.

Ames studied her.

“You understand you need to stay out of this.”

“Yes.”

“I mean completely.”

“I know.”

“No requests. No informal conversations. No asking clerks what they’ve heard.”

“I know.”

He nodded.

Then his tone softened.

“How are your wrists?”

Faith almost smiled.

“Better.”

“I’m asking as a colleague, not chief judge.”

“Still better.”

Ames glanced around the chambers.

Her father’s Bible sat on the shelf behind her desk.

“You took the oath on that?”

“Yes.”

“He would’ve been proud.”

Faith looked at the Bible.

“My mother told me something the night this happened.”

Ames waited.

“My father was stopped. A lot. More than I knew.”

Ames said nothing.

“He taught me the law like it was a language I would need in an emergency.”

“Maybe he knew you would.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“No.”

Faith turned back.

“What makes me angry is that being able to say ‘I’m a federal judge’ changed the outcome.”

Ames nodded.

“That sentence saved me time. Maybe saved me a night in jail. What happens to the person who doesn’t have a sentence like that?”

The chief judge leaned forward.

“That question belongs in courtrooms.”

Faith’s expression hardened.

“Not mine. Not in this investigation.”

“No.”

She understood the distinction.

That was the cruel part.

The experience had made the issue personal at precisely the moment her position required her to become less personal than ever.

Derek Holloway spent the next week assigned to a desk in the records division.

His badge remained active.

His weapon did not.

He came in at seven, logged archived traffic reports, and went home before dark.

Reporters waited outside his apartment.

Someone spray-painted MURDERER on his garage even though nobody had died.

Someone else mailed him a letter saying he had done nothing wrong and should “stand strong against the mob.”

He threw both messages away.

On the eighth day, Sergeant Price appeared beside his cubicle.

Holloway looked up.

“You lost?”

Price placed a folder on the desk.

“You need to amend your report.”

Holloway’s face closed.

“My lawyer told me not to discuss the investigation.”

“I’m not discussing the investigation.”

“You just told me to change my report.”

“I told you the report is inaccurate.”

Holloway stood.

“Be careful.”

Price’s expression did not move.

“No. You be careful.”

The two men looked at each other.

Records clerks kept their heads down.

Price lowered his voice.

“You wrote that Sullivan refused to produce registration.”

“She stalled.”

“She told you exactly where it was.”

“She questioned me.”

“That’s legal.”

“You weren’t there at the beginning.”

“No, but your camera was there for enough.”

Holloway gave a humorless laugh.

“So this is you saving yourself.”

Price accepted the hit.

“Partly.”

Holloway blinked.

Price continued.

“I should have taken control sooner. I didn’t.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

“No.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want the report to stop saying things the video disproves.”

Holloway crossed his arms.

“You ever make a stop at night?”

“Yes.”

“You ever have someone lie about who they are?”

“Yes.”

“You ever find a stolen car with documents inside?”

“Yes.”

“So don’t act like I invented suspicion.”

Price leaned closer.

“You didn’t invent suspicion. You invented facts to justify it afterward.”

Holloway’s expression changed.

Price tapped the folder.

“She failed to signal?”

“She did.”

“Traffic camera says she didn’t.”

For the first time, Holloway said nothing.

Price opened the folder.

A still image showed Faith’s Mercedes turning onto Ridgefield Avenue.

Amber signal blinking.

Holloway stared at it.