Chapter 6: The Name On The List
The name at the bottom of the page stayed in my mind long after the security officer took the document away.
Thomas Reed.
My bailiff.
My friend.
The person who had stood beside me when everyone else froze.
The person who had called me “Your Honor” when Officer Whitmore refused to even listen.
For a few seconds, I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.
Then doubt arrived.
Not loudly.
Quietly.
The most dangerous kind.
Thomas noticed.
“What is it?””
I looked at him.
“Your name.””
His face changed.
“What?””
I didn’t answer.
He saw the expression on my face and understood.
The hurt appeared before the anger.
“You think I’m involved?””
“No.””
But my hesitation betrayed me.
Thomas stepped back.
“Evelyn.””
“I said no.””
“You looked at that paper and saw my name.””
The hallway felt colder.
Security officers moved around us, collecting evidence.
None of them spoke.
None of them needed to.
Everyone had noticed.
Thomas lowered his voice.
“After everything today, you really think I would do this?””
I looked away.
“I don’t know what to think.””
That was the truth.
And somehow it hurt more than any accusation.
Thomas had been there through my hardest years.
When I was appointed to the bench and people questioned whether I was too young.
When reporters criticized my decisions.
When strangers sent angry letters because they didn’t like my rulings.
He had always been there.
But I had learned something in court.
Trust was not evidence.
Feelings were not facts.
And I couldn’t ignore what was in front of me.
The next morning, I arrived early.
Earlier than everyone.
I needed answers before the courthouse filled again.
Captain Hayes met me outside chambers.
“I reviewed the list.””
“And?””
His expression was serious.
“Every person on it has some connection to the case.””
My heart sank.
“Thomas?””
“He appears on the list.””
“Why?””
“He had access to your schedule.””
“That doesn’t mean anything.””
“No.””
Captain Hayes looked at me.
“But it means someone wanted you to suspect him.””
That stopped me.
“What?””
He handed me another piece of paper.
“The original list recovered from the envelope had one difference.””
“What difference?””
“The version we found was altered.””
I stared at him.
“Altered how?””
“Someone added Thomas Reed’s name.””
The air left my lungs.
“Added?””
“Yes.””
“Who was on the original?””
Captain Hayes hesitated.
Then he handed me the corrected copy.
The names were different.
Officer Whitmore.
Michael Voss.
A court clerk.
A private investigator.
And one more name.
A name I knew.
A name I never expected.
Rachel Monroe.
The district attorney.
I read it twice.
“No.””
Captain Hayes watched me carefully.
“You trust her?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because she has spent years fighting for justice.””
He nodded.
“And sometimes people with the strongest reputations have the most to lose.””
I hated that sentence.
Because it was true.
When Rachel entered the courthouse an hour later, she immediately noticed something was wrong.
“What happened?””
I watched her carefully.
“Captain Hayes found something.””
Her expression shifted.
“What?””
I held up the paper.
Her eyes moved across the names.
Then stopped.
For one second.
One tiny second.
She looked afraid.
Then it disappeared.
But I saw it.
“You think I’m involved,” she said.
“I think someone wants me to think that.””
She stepped closer.
“Evelyn, listen to me.””
“I am listening.””
“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.””
That sentence bothered me.
Not because it sounded threatening.
Because it sounded like a confession.
“What exactly am I dealing with, Rachel?””
She looked toward the hallway.
Then lowered her voice.
“The officer who attacked you wasn’t trying to arrest you.””
“Then what was he doing?””
Her eyes met mine.
“He was trying to create a public scene.””
“Why?””
“Because someone needed footage of you looking unstable.””
The answer made my stomach turn.
“And the complaint?””
“Part of the same plan.””
“Against me?””
She nodded.
“Someone wants you removed from the trial.””
“Who?””
Rachel opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
A phone rang.
Not mine.
Not hers.
The sound came from inside the evidence room next to us.
We both looked at the door.
The room was supposed to be empty.
Security had locked it hours earlier.
The ringing continued.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Rachel whispered:
“That phone shouldn’t be there.””
The door slowly opened.
Inside, sitting on the evidence table, was a black phone.
No case number.
No label.
Just a phone ringing.
I picked it up.
A message appeared on the screen before I could answer.
A photograph.
A recent one.
Taken outside the courthouse.
It showed Rachel standing beside someone.
Someone she claimed she didn’t know.
May you like
And underneath the photo were six words:
*ASK HER WHO SHE WORKS FOR.*
