CHAPTER 1 — THE ROAD THROUGH MILFIELD

Justice Elijah Carter had spent most of his seventy-two years listening before speaking.

It was a habit that had served him well.

Before becoming a judge, before the federal bench, before his eventual appointment as an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, Elijah had been a young attorney sitting in cramped courtrooms where the loudest person often believed he was the smartest.

Experience had taught him otherwise.

So on a cool October afternoon, when flashing red and blue lights appeared behind his dark sedan on a quiet road outside the fictional town of Milfield, Elijah didn't panic.

He glanced at the speedometer.

Thirty-three miles per hour.

The posted limit was thirty-five.

He checked his mirrors, activated his turn signal, and pulled safely toward the curb.

The police cruiser stopped behind him.

Elijah switched off the engine and waited.

He wasn't dressed like anyone important.

That morning, he had spoken at a small law school two counties away. Afterward, he had changed out of his suit and into a dark sweater, gray trousers, and an old brown jacket.

His security arrangements had been adjusted for what was supposed to be a quiet private visit, and the car itself was deliberately ordinary.

He looked less like one of the country's most recognizable legal officials and more like somebody's grandfather returning from the grocery store.

In many ways, that was exactly what he wanted.

The officer approaching his window appeared to be in his forties.

His nameplate read:

SULLIVAN.

Elijah lowered his window.

"Good afternoon, Officer."

Sullivan didn't respond to the greeting.

"License and registration."

"Certainly."

Elijah reached slowly toward the glove compartment.

"Keep your hands where I can see them."

Elijah stopped.

"My registration is in the glove compartment."

"I didn't tell you to reach."

"You asked for my registration."

Sullivan stared at him.

Elijah placed both hands back on the steering wheel.

"How would you like me to retrieve it?"

For some reason, the question seemed to irritate Sullivan.

"Slowly."

Elijah opened the compartment and removed the document.

Then he handed over his driver's license.

Sullivan examined it.

"Elijah Carter."

"That's correct."

Sullivan looked from the license to Elijah.

"Where are you coming from?"

"Bellweather Law School."

"What were you doing there?"

"Speaking."

"About what?"

"The Constitution."

Sullivan gave a short laugh.

Elijah didn't.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Washington?"

Elijah nodded.

Sullivan looked through the window into the back seat.

There was a leather briefcase, an umbrella, two books, and a paper bag containing an apple and a sandwich Elijah hadn't eaten.

Nothing unusual.

Still, Sullivan lingered.

Finally Elijah asked, "May I know why you stopped me?"

Sullivan handed nothing back.

"You crossed the center line."

Elijah knew he hadn't.