He kept walking. He knew that tone. Polished, hungry, and practiced.
Another step.
“Mr. Calloway—a quick question.”
He didn’t slow, didn’t turn. The courthouse doors were ten feet away. The heavy oak was his finish line.
The woman stepped into his path. Not close enough to block him—she was too smart for a harassment charge—but close enough to make his refusal to stop look like a confession.
Lila Grant.
Up close, she was smaller than she looked on screen. Sharper, too. Eyes too steady.
A phone angled toward him from her other hand. Recording.
Of course it was.
Reid stopped.
Because walking through her would make a worse clip than stopping.
“What can I do for you?” he said evenly.
Her mouth curved—slightly.
“Given your relationship with Ms. Harper,” she said, voice smooth as silk, “do you have any concerns about how this case might be perceived moving forward?”
Reid held her gaze. He didn’t let his eyes shift, though he felt the other phones lifting around them. This was the trap: if he denied the relationship, he was a liar; if he defended it, he was compromised.
“My job,” he said, calm and precise, “is to follow the evidence wherever it leads. The law doesn’t have a personal life, Ms. Grant.”
Lila didn’t blink. “Of course. And do you believe the public can trust that process to remain impartial when the defense and the prosecution are... so closely aligned?”
There it was.Closely aligned.A polite way of sayingin bed together.
Reid didn’t let his jaw tighten. He didn’t give her the satisfaction of a defensive breath.He let the silence sit for a beat. He let the wind whistle through the trees on the square, long enough for the tension to ripen.
“If charges are warranted,” he said, “they’ll be based on evidence. Not perception. If you're looking for a story about bias, you'll have to write it yourself.”
A flicker of something passed through her eyes. Interest. Calculation. She’d gotten her soundbite, but she hadn’t gotten him to flinch.“Understood,” she said.
“And Ms. Harper’s involvement?—”
Reid stepped past her.
“Have a good morning, Ms. Grant.”
He didn’t wait for another question.
Didn’t give her a second clip.
Behind him, he heard the faint click of a recording stopping.
Then the low murmur of voices picked back up.
He pushed through the courthouse doors and into the cool, dim hallway beyond.
Inside, the air felt different.
