Page 63 of You, Only You

"I supported my sister through the appeals process," I said carefully. "I advocated for a review of the university's decision. When those avenues were exhausted, I encouraged her to focus on healing rather than further legal action."

"There are reports that you harassed the professor in question. A Dr. Richard Vance."

"I made inquiries about his conduct through appropriate channels. I wouldn't characterize that as harassment."

"You attempted to bring a civil suit against him."

"I consulted with attorneys about potential causes of action. None proved viable given the legal standards involved."

"Some might say you became obsessed with the case."

"Some might say I was a brother who didn't stop." I caught myself. Too much heat. The courtroom version of me didn't run hot. I recalibrated. "My commitment to my sister's well-being informed my professional focus on institutional accountability. It didn't compromise my objectivity."

Chen studied me for a beat longer than was comfortable, then nodded. "No further questions on this topic."

I exhaled through my nose. Slow. Controlled. The worst was behind me, or at least this particular version of it. The personal territory had been mapped and navigated without explosion. The jury had seen the wound and seen me hold steady.

But as I answered the next round of technical questions about document authentication and forensic protocols, my focus kept splitting. Half of me here, in the witness chair, doing the job. The other half in that gallery, looking at an empty seat and understanding, with a clarity that felt like standing in cold water, that I'd done this to myself.

She hadn't come because I'd taught her not to. Four days of good and professional distance and a closed door in a hallway. I'd built that lesson, brick by brick, and she'd learned it the way she learned everything: thoroughly and permanently.

"Mr. Steele?" Chen's voice.

"Yes. The authentication process. Every file was logged, timestamped, and verified by independent forensic specialists. The encryption keys were obtained through a legal process and documented accordingly."

Clean answer. Good delivery. The courtroom version of me was running smoothly.

The rest of me was thinking about eggs in a warped pan and the way she'd said the word perfect like she was talking about something other than breakfast.

When Chen finally said, "No further questions," I stood from the witness chair with the careful, measured movements of a man walking out of a room he'd like to collapse in. The hallway outside was all fluorescent light and institutional grey, and I leaned against the wall and loosened my tie and tried to remember what it felt like to breathe without calculating the cost.

"Solid performance in there." Bates materialized beside me, coffee cup in hand, his face doing its closest approximation of approval. "Chen said the financial evidence is airtight. The personal stuff..." He wobbled his free hand in a so-so gesture. "Muddy, but not disqualifying."

"Good."

The word came out before I could stop it. Good. Her word. The one I'd been hiding behind for four days, and now it was just a reflex, a verbal tic I couldn't shake, and the irony was so precise it could have cut glass.

"The jury seemed engaged," Bates continued. "A couple of them were taking notes during the shell company breakdown."

"That's encouraging."

Bates studied me with the particular look of a man who'd interrogated enough people to know when someone was performing composure instead of experiencing it. "You okay?"

"Fine." Too fast. I heard it. He heard it.

"Right." He took a long sip of coffee, letting the silence do what silence did, which was make people feel the need to fill it. I didn't fill it. I was better at silence than he was. We stood there in a brief, professional standoff of mutual stubbornness.

"Lindsey's prepping for her testimony tomorrow," he said finally. "Document review with our team."

I nodded.

"She asked me to tell you it went well." Something careful entered his tone, the verbal equivalent of approaching a skittish animal. "Your testimony, I mean. She was watching the feed from the prep room. Said you handled the personal questions..." He paused. "Her word was 'exactly right.'"

She'd been watching. In the building the whole time. Monitoring from another room. Not absent. Just not present. Not willing to sit in that gallery and let me see her face, and I couldn't blame her for that because I'd made the gallery feel like enemy territory.

"She could have told me herself," I said, and the words landed flatter than I'd intended, heavier, like something dropped from a height.

"Could have." Bates agreed evenly. "Didn't."