Pemberton addressed the room. “This concludes the first session of these proceedings. The committee will review all testimony and evidence presented today. We will reconvene in two weeks for additional witness testimony. Further sessions will be scheduled as needed. This hearing is adjourned.”
The gavel came down. Final. Absolute.
Harrow stood. Smoothed his suit. Walked out of the hearing room with faint smile that said he knew exactly how this would end.
And Pemberton watched him go with expression of grandfatherly disappointment that was pitch-perfect performance.
I wanted to scream. Wanted to stand up and expose Pemberton right there. Force the connection into the open regardless of proof.
Dom's hand found mine under the table. Squeezed. Grounding.
“Not yet,” he said quietly. “We wait. We see what they decide. Then we plan next move.”
He was right. But it felt like swallowing glass.
We leftthe courthouse after dark. The press had mostly dispersed. Just a few stragglers hoping for comment we wouldn't give.
Dom drove in silence. Not toward Ravenswood. Not toward my flat. Somewhere else.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“You'll see.”
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into a cemetery. Old. Well-maintained. Trees creating shadows in the streetlight.
James Crawford's grave was in the northeast corner. Simple headstone. His name. Dates.
Beloved husband and dedicated officer.
No mention of the corruption charges they'd buried him with. No acknowledgment of what he'd actually been investigating.
A woman stood beside the grave. Fifties. Blonde hair going grey. Face that showed years of grief compressed into dignified endurance.
“Sarah,” I said. Voice rough.
Sarah Crawford turned. Studied me with eyes that had learned to spot lies. “Cal. You look terrible.”
“Got shot two weeks ago. Recovering slowly.” I made my way to her on crutches. “This is Dom. Dominic Rourke.”
“The one whose sister—” She stopped. Nodded to Dom. “I'm sorry for your loss.”
“I'm sorry for yours,” Dom replied.
We stood there for a moment.
“Did it work?” Sarah asked finally. “The hearing. Did you get him?”
“We don't know yet. Committee's deliberating.” I looked at the headstone. “But we proved what James was investigating. Proved it wasn't conspiracy theory or paranoid delusion. Proved he was right about everything.”
“And that's supposed to make it better?” Her voice was bitter. “Knowing he was right doesn't bring him back. Doesn't give me the last three years of my life. Doesn't make up for the fact that everyone thinks he killed himself because he was corrupt.”
“No. It doesn't.” I met her gaze. “And I can't fix that. Can't undo the narrative or bring James back or make any of this hurt less. All I can do is finish what he started. Make sure Harrow pays. Make sure the truth gets told even if it's three years too late.”
“You think truth matters? Truth didn't save James. Truth didn't save your sister,” she looked at Dom. “Truth just gets you killed by people powerful enough to rewrite reality.”
“Maybe.” Dom's voice was quiet. “But the alternative is letting them win. Letting them bury everyone they've destroyed and move on like none of it mattered. And I can't do that. Can't let Lily's death mean nothing. Can't let your husband's death mean nothing.”
“So you risk your own lives instead. Keep fighting even when the system is designed to protect people like Harrow.” Sarah studied us both. “You're either very brave or very stupid. I can't decide which.”
