“No.”

Rourke's smile appeared.

Marcus continued.

“I'm feeling concerned about your judgment.”

The smile disappeared.

“You're going downstairs.”

“My courtroom begins in approximately thirty seconds.”

“You don't have a courtroom.”

Marcus looked toward the doors marked 4B.

“Yes.”

“I do.”

Rourke grabbed Marcus's shoulder.

“Move.”

Marcus didn't.

He wasn't resisting.

He was simply standing there.

Rourke pushed harder.

Marcus remained planted.

The difference in their size made the effort almost ridiculous.

Rourke's frustration became visible.

Marcus looked toward the courtroom doors.

“One final opportunity.”

Rourke frowned.

“What?”

“Verify my identity.”

“We're done talking.”

Marcus nodded.

“All right.”

He lifted his cuffed hands slightly.

“When everyone in my courtroom stands up in ten seconds, remember—you were warned.”

Rourke almost laughed.

Then the courtroom doors opened.

Bailiff Anthony Greene stepped into the hallway.

“Judge Holloway, we're ready—”

He stopped.

His eyes dropped to the cuffs.

Then lifted toward Rourke.

“What the hell?”

Behind him stood attorneys, the court reporter, an assistant district attorney, defendants, and families waiting for the morning docket.

Elena had already dropped the files onto the bench.

Inside the courtroom, someone announced:

“All rise.”

The words traveled into the hallway.

Nearly forty people stood.

Not for Rourke.

Not because they were frightened.

They stood because Judge Marcus Holloway had entered the courtroom.

Handcuffed.

Rourke looked through the open doors.

Then at Marcus.

Then at the brass plaque behind him.

For the first time that morning, Rourke actually read it.

His face went pale.

JUDGE MARCUS D. HOLLOWAY

Bailiff Greene stepped forward.

“Take those cuffs off.”

Rourke didn't move.

“Officer.”

Nothing.

Greene's voice became harder.

“Take. The. Cuffs. Off.”

Rourke fumbled for the key.

The first cuff opened.

Then the second.

Red marks circled Marcus's wrists.

Nobody spoke.

Rourke stared at him.

“Judge, I—”

Marcus raised one hand.

“Do not.”

Rourke stopped.

Marcus bent down and retrieved his folder.

He straightened his robe.

Then looked toward the courtroom.

“Please be seated.”

The crowd slowly sat.

Marcus turned toward Greene.

“Mr. Greene.”

“Yes, Judge?”

“Please ask the chief courthouse administrator and supervising sergeant to meet me in chambers.”

“Yes, Judge.”

Marcus looked at Elena.

“Ms. Ramirez.”

She swallowed.

“Yes?”

“Preserve the hallway security recordings.”

“Immediately.”

Marcus looked at Rourke.

The officer seemed unable to decide whether to speak.

Marcus spoke first.

“Officer Rourke, your body-camera recording is also to be preserved in full.”

Rourke nodded.

“Yes, Judge.”

Marcus stepped through the courtroom doors.

Then paused.

He looked back.

“You will not discuss this incident with me further.”

Rourke stared.

Marcus continued.

“I am now a witness.”

He entered.

The doors closed behind him.

And for the first time in seven years, Judge Marcus Holloway walked into Courtroom 4B carrying the invisible weight of a pair of handcuffs.

The courtroom remained strangely quiet.

Marcus sat behind the bench.

The leather folder lay before him.

His hands rested on either side of it.

He could feel the faint pressure around his wrists where the cuffs had been.

He hated that his hands were trembling.

Barely.

But they were.

Marcus had been threatened before.

He had received angry letters.

He had been cursed at by defendants.

He had been accused of favoritism by lawyers who lost motions.

He had even received anonymous death threats during his years as a prosecutor.

None of those experiences had felt like this.

Because this had happened inside his own courthouse.

In a hallway where his name was engraved on a door.

A place where the law was supposed to be visible.

Marcus looked at the people in front of him.

Some avoided his eyes.

Some looked angry.

Some looked frightened.

One defendant looked as if he had just watched the rules of the world change.

Marcus adjusted the microphone.

“For anyone wondering,” he said, “yes, that was unusual.”

A few nervous laughs moved through the courtroom.

Marcus didn't smile.

“We will take a fifteen-minute recess.”

He struck the gavel.

Once.

Then he rose.

Inside his chambers, Elena was waiting.

She closed the door behind her.

“Are you all right?”

Marcus looked down at his wrists.

“I’m angry.”

“That isn't what I asked.”

Marcus looked at her.

She was right.

He sat.

Elena placed a bottle of water beside him.

“You told him.”

“Yes.”

“I told him.”

“Yes.”

“He was standing next to your name.”

“Yes.”

“He could have asked me.”

“Yes.”

“He could have asked Bailiff Greene.”

“Yes.”

“He could have checked the court directory.”

Marcus leaned back.

“Yes.”

Elena stared at him.

“So what was he seeing?”

Marcus was silent.

He didn't have an answer.

Not yet.

The supervising sergeant arrived four minutes later.

Thomas Beckett had spent twenty-two years in law enforcement.

He was sixty, gray-haired, broad through the shoulders, and familiar with every corner of the courthouse.

The moment he entered Marcus's chambers, his face looked stricken.

“Judge Holloway.”

Marcus stood.

“Sergeant.”

“I am deeply sorry.”

Marcus raised a hand.

“Not yet.”

Beckett stopped.

Marcus pointed toward a chair.

“Sit.”

Beckett sat.

The courthouse administrator, Marian Lewis, arrived moments later carrying a notebook.

Marcus remained standing.

“I am going to make several requests.”

Beckett nodded.

“Anything you need.”

“No.”

Marcus's voice sharpened.

“Not anything.”

Beckett looked at him.

“I am not asking for favors.”

Marian opened her notebook.

“What needs to be preserved?”

“Every camera covering the east corridor between 8:30 and 9:00.”

She wrote.

“Officer Rourke's body camera from the beginning of his shift until he is relieved.”

Beckett nodded.

“Dispatch recordings.”

“Radio traffic.”

“Courthouse access logs.”

“Officer assignments.”

“Training records.”

Marcus paused.

“And every previous complaint involving Officer Rourke.”

Beckett's expression changed.

Only slightly.

But Marcus noticed.

“There are previous complaints.”

Beckett looked down.

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't need to.”

Silence filled the room.

Marcus sat.

“I want this reviewed outside the normal courthouse chain.”