Patricia watched it disappear.
“Sad.”
“Yes.”
“Necessary?”
“For him, probably.”
She looked at Sam.
“How long until that changes?”
He thought about the question.
Judges were supposed to respect difficult answers.
Sometimes he hated them.
“Longer than any ruling.”
Patricia nodded.
“But rulings help.”
“Yes.”
“Videos help.”
“Yes.”
“Good cops speaking up helps.”
“Yes.”
“People in parking lots not laughing helps.”
Sam smiled faintly.
“That too.”
Patricia picked up her wine.
“So until then?”
Sam looked toward the empty street.
“Until then, somebody has to be willing to see what’s happening.”
A breeze moved through the trees.
The neighborhood settled into evening.
Months earlier, Derek Holloway had believed authority meant being the person whose version of events everyone accepted automatically.
Samuel Owens had spent a lifetime believing something else.
Authority was temporary.
Evidence lasted.
Titles changed.
Records remained.
And justice did not begin when the most powerful person in the room finally demanded it.
Justice began much earlier.
With the first person who was willing to say:
I saw what happened.
And I will not pretend I didn’t.