He stared at it as if it had reached out of the past and grabbed him by the throat.
He looked at Tank for the first time not with suspicion, but with urgency.
“Mr. Peterson,” he said, voice unsteady. “Recess. Now. My chambers.”
The gavel fell again, softer this time.
Maya rushed back to Tank, pressing her face into his vest.
The courtroom buzzed with confusion.
Inside the judge’s private office, something far heavier than a custody case unfolded.
Judge Harrison paced, clutching the drawing.
“Describe that cabin,” he demanded. “Every detail.”
Tank thought back to the afternoon months earlier when his motorcycle broke down on a deserted road. He had followed a narrow trail into the woods, hoping to find help. Instead, he found decay.
“The roof was collapsing,” Tank said quietly. “Windows shattered. Looked abandoned for years. There was a big oak tree beside it. One branch twisted down low, like it was broken. Had a rotted tire swing hanging from it.”
The judge closed his eyes.
Continued on the next page
