The air seemed to thin.
I looked at Price.
She did not react openly, but something in her gaze sharpened.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Ryan sat back down slowly.
“It means Linda kept records,” he said. “On everyone. Judges. lawyers. police. officers. Anyone who helped, anyone who looked away, anyone who took money and pretended it was kindness.”
“Where?” Price asked.
Ryan looked only at me.
“At the house,” he said. “But not where you think.”
By noon, my home was no longer my home.
It was a search site.
Two police cruisers sat at the curb. A dark federal sedan blocked the driveway. Neighbors stood behind curtains and half-open blinds, finally receiving the kind of spectacle Linda had always feared, though not the one she had planned for me.
I arrived in uniform.
I did not do it for drama. I did it because that morning I had decided I would no longer shrink myself to make anyone else comfortable.
