TWO POLICE OFFICERS SHAVED MY HEAD—THEN DISCOVERED I WAS THE JUDGE ASSIGNED TO THEIR CASE.

Leah insisted on viewing Camille’s footage in a secured office, with an evidence technician preserving the original file.

I sat beside Elena and watched myself being dragged across concrete.

There is a particular shame in seeing your own fear from someone else’s angle. You remember the pain. You don’t expect to recognize the frightened stranger on the screen.

When the clippers came on, Camille shut her eyes.

“Keep watching,” I said. “They don’t get to erase this.”

The recording showed Voss ripping my identification. It captured Pruitt restraining me and the threat Voss delivered afterward. It also showed something Camille had missed.

A reflection in the glass of the cabinet.

A third figure, just beyond the door.

“Freeze it,” Leah said.

The technician enlarged the frame without altering the original. We saw a pale sleeve, a ring of keys, and the heel of a work boot.

“Facilities,” Elena said.

Leah folded her arms.

“Or somebody dressed as facilities.”

An investigator entered and handed her a report. The maintenance log claimed every basement camera had been disabled for electrical work at 8:10 a.m.—half an hour before my assault.

“Who authorized that?” I asked.

“Alan Keene. Building supervisor.”

Tessa looked up from her laptop.

“Alan called my office yesterday,” she said. “He wanted to know exactly when you would arrive.”

Leah asked for Keene to be located.

Minutes later, Elena’s radio crackled.

“Supervisor Keene’s car is still in the garage,” a deputy reported. “His keys are on his desk. But he’s gone.”