He took out my wallet and opened it.
Then he took out the black leather credential case tucked behind it.
I watched his fingers stop moving.
It was a gold seal with an eagle, and beneath it the words United States District Court, Northern District of Georgia, with my photograph and name: The Honorable Amara J. Whitlock, United States District Judge.
The color drained from his face. He read it once, then again.
“Judge Amara Whitlock?” he whispered. “United States District Court?”
The room went silent.
The clerk slowly took off her glasses and stood up from her chair. The deputy at the computer pushed back from the screen like it had suddenly gotten hot.
Miller turned toward the sheriff’s office. His voice shook.
“Sir,” he called. “Sir, you need to come out here. Right now.”
Voss came out of his office with an irritated scowl, ready to chew somebody out.
