Deputy Marsh set my purse on the booking counter, and the encrypted phone buzzed against the wood. Sheriff Pruitt snapped, “Inventory it and lock it up.” The young deputy unzipped the bag and lifted out a slim leather wallet. He flipped it open, and I watched his face go from bored to stunned. Inside lay a gold federal badge, a laminated card, and a photograph of me in black robes. “Sheriff,” Marsh whispered, “she is a United States District Judge.”

The room went silent. The desk sergeant dropped his coffee, and the cup shattered on the tile. Pruitt laughed, too loudly, and snatched the wallet. He read the card twice, and the color drained from his thick neck. “This is a fake,” he muttered. I stood calmly in my handcuffs and said, “Sheriff, the call that just came through is from the Chief Judge, and I suggest you answer it.” The phone rang again.