A White Mercedes Pulled Up to Gate Six on a Tuesday Afternoon Without a Permit

I kept my hands folded in my lap.

The brass buckle of my duty belt pressed into my forearm.

“Paper case,” Vance said.

“You want that phrase in the transcript?”

“I want the transcript to show she altered documents to cover her own insubordination.”

Vance took off her wire-rimmed glasses and laid them on the folder.

“Then let’s look at documents.”

Harmon slid a page across the table.