I adjusted my microphone, the harsh fluorescent lights beating down on my bare, scarred scalp.
I sat down and looked directly at the defense table.
Officers Rick Vance and Kyle Thorne were sitting there, dressed in crisp civilian suits, looking arrogant and bored.
Until they looked up.
When their eyes met mine, all the color instantly drained from their faces.
Thorne’s jaw literally dropped, a choked gasp escaping his throat.
Vance gripped the edge of the mahogany table so hard his knuckles turned bone white.
His eyes darted from my face to my violently shaved head, and sheer, unadulterated terror washed over him.
The woman they had brutalized in the basement just thirty minutes ago was sitting high above them, holding the gavel.
“Good morning,” I said, my voice projecting loud and clear through the microphone.
“We are here for the preliminary hearing in the civil rights abuses of Officers Vance and Thorne.”
