My daughter collapsed on the wedding aisle with a cut near her temple.

I didn't move.

That was the first thing — not letting him see that the words had landed.

"Investigated for what," I said.

"Misconduct in office." Preston straightened his jacket.

He had recovered himself completely.

The ash-colored shock of the footage was gone.

This was the version of him that had buried Carol Marsh's complaint in a week.

"Three years ago.

A custody case.

She was accused of accepting a private dinner with one of the parties before ruling.

The investigation was inconclusive — she retired before it concluded.

But inconclusive isn't the same as innocent."

"It isn't the same as guilty either."

"No.

But it does make her testimony considerably less compelling." He tilted his head.

"A retired magistrate with a misconduct cloud over her name, making accusations against a well-established property developer at a private family event.

How do you think that reads to a judge?"

I kept my face still.

"And the footage?" I said.

"Angles can be argued.

My legal team is already preparing a statement about the camera placement and the limitations of the recording quality."

"The recording quality looked perfectly clear to forty witnesses."

"Witnesses at an emotionally charged event, many of whom had been drinking since noon." He glanced toward the door again.

"I'm going to make you an offer.

One time.

Because I don't enjoy this kind of unpleasantness and I suspect you don't either."

"I'm listening."

"Walk away.

Take your daughter to a doctor — which you should do regardless — and let the venue handle this as an internal incident.

I'll cover all of Sophie's medical expenses, privately, today.

No paperwork.

No police report.

Everyone goes home."

Sophie's face on the carpet.

Her hands trembling.

*It didn't slip, Mommy.*

"No," I said.

Something flickered behind his eyes.

"You should think carefully—"

"I said no."

He studied me for a moment.

Then he nodded, once, as if I had confirmed something he had suspected.

"All right," he said.

"Then we do it the other way."

He turned and said something quietly to one of the suited men.

The man took out his phone.

I walked back to the corridor.

Diane looked up the moment she saw my face.

Sophie had fallen asleep against her shoulder, the bread roll still loosely in one hand.

"What did he say?" Diane asked.

I sat down.

"He told me about the misconduct investigation."

Diane closed her eyes briefly.

"I thought he might."

"Is it true?"

"The dinner happened.

It was a charity event — forty people present, including the other party in the case.

I didn't know he would be there.

I recused myself the following morning and reported the contact to my senior colleague." She opened her eyes.

"The investigation found no evidence of bias in my rulings.

But I retired during the process because I was tired, and because I knew that regardless of the outcome, my name would carry that question mark forever."

"He's going to use it."

"He will use everything he has." She looked at Sophie sleeping.

"That's what he does.

He doesn't defend himself.

He makes the other person the problem."

My phone showed seven missed calls.

I hadn't felt it vibrate.

Six were from a number I didn't recognize.

One was from my sister, Renata.

I called Renata back first.

She picked up on the first ring.

"I just saw something on the community Facebook group.