Leah
Judge Reed's face changed—fast. The warmth vanished. Red eyes narrowed to slits.
“Little brat,” she hissed, “I’m offering you a way out. A ladder down from the ledge you’ve climbed onto. Don’t be stupid enough to spit on it.”
I smiled—small, polite, the smile of someone who’d already won.
“Judge Reed, I came to this station to report a crime. Your nephew, Justin Reed, drugged me, attempted to r**e me, and planned to film and distribute the assault online. I have an eyewitness who pulled him off me before he could finish. I have physical evidence—bruises, blood, toxicology waiting to be run. I’m not here to negotiate. I’m here to file a complaint.”
I paused just long enough for the silence to press against her.
“And since you walked into this room,” I continued, “I’ve been record
