Damian did not hand over the badge.

He looked at me instead, and what was in his face had curdled past rage into something smaller and uglier — the expression of a man discovering, in real time, that intimidation has an expiration date, and that his had just passed.

“You planned all of this,” he said.

“You let me stand up here.

You let me make a fool of myself in front of everyone.”

“I asked you about Camilla three times,” I said.