"How long?"
"Six years." Monroe swallows. "Since right after the Moreno case. Someone approached me. Said they needed access to federal systems. Said it would never trace back."
"And you believed them."
"They paid enough for me to believe whatever I wanted."
I watch him, this federal agent who sold judicial schedules for cryptocurrency. Who enabled fourteen murders for money that appeared in an offshore account.
I've signed off on worse.
The thought surfaces before I can stop it. Uncle Sal's "suggestions" that became my rulings. The cases I didn't examine too closely. The judgeship that came with strings I pretended were ribbons.
Monroe's hands are shaking. Mine are steady.
I'm not sure which of us should feel more ashamed.
"What do you know about the targets?" Kade presses. "Why these specific judges?"
"I don't choose them. I just pull what they ask for, court schedules, rotation assignments, security details." Monroe shakes his head. "I assumed it was competitive intelligence. Law firms wanting an edge. I didn't know anyone was dying until—"
"Until you saw the pattern," Holloway finishes. "And kept pulling files anyway."
Monroe doesn't deny it.
"You were on a list," he says suddenly. Looking at me.
The room narrows.
Not slowly, all at once. Like someone cinched a belt around my lungs and pulled.
A list.
"Three weeks ago. They requested everything on you. Court schedule, home address, security arrangements." Monroe'svoice has gone flat. Reciting. "Then they asked for more. Medical records. Personal history. They wanted to know about your daughter."
Cole's hand finds my thigh under the table. Not gentle—gripping. I feel the tremor in his fingers. The control it's costing him to stay seated.
"What else?" His voice has dropped to something I barely recognize.
Monroe's eyes flick to him. Away. Can't hold.
"I heard there were problems. With the first approach." He swallows. "They were discussing alternatives. But then I was cut out. They stopped trusting me." He shrugs. "Whether they actually moved forward with anything, I don't know."
The problem.
My hands are flat on the table. The wood grain presses sharp against my palms. Real. Solid.
They discussed making me disappear. They wanted information about my daughter.
"When?" I ask. Court voice. The mask I've worn for years. "When were these discussions?"
"Two weeks ago. Maybe three." Monroe shrugs like it doesn't matter. Like my life is a scheduling conflict. "After that, silence. They stopped contacting me when the FBI started asking questions."
Silence. Because they're regrouping. Or because the plan fell apart.
"What do you know about their operations?" Kade's voice cuts through. Pulling us back to intel. "Locations. Infrastructure."
Monroe hesitates. Calculating what's worth trading.