I stood.
“I’m not an assistant.”
I unzipped the tote bag.
The sound cut through the room.
Black silk spilled free.
The robe.
Gasps echoed.
I slipped it on.
The agent stiffened. Recognition flashed.
“Judge Carter…?” he said quietly.
Ethan’s knees nearly buckled.
“I don’t defend criminals,” I said clearly.
“I sentence them.”
Three months later, I stood in the Supreme Court chamber, hand on the Bible.
“I, Amelia Carter, do solemnly swear…”
Ethan wasn’t there.
He was awaiting trial.
When the gavel struck, the sound echoed like freedom.
A young woman approached me afterward.
“I was a paralegal,” she said nervously. “Watching you… you gave me hope.”
I smiled.
“Silence isn’t weakness,” I told her softly.
“It’s evidence.”
