“Can I see you for a moment?”
I walked in.
He shut the door.
On his desk was a printed copy of the same photo.
Silas, frozen in one terrible moment.
Made into evidence by people who didn’t care about the truth.
Mr. Harlan was a decent man.
Not warm.
Not cruel.
Just tired, like all of us.
He tapped the paper once.
“Were you there?”
“Yes.”
“Did he approach the girl?”
“He protected her.”
Mr. Harlan blinked.
I told him everything.
The video.
The house number.
The street sign.
The caption.
The sedan.
The tinted window.
The way Silas stood between that car and Kinsley’s porch.
The way the car fled.
The way he waited five full minutes to make sure it was gone.
When I finished, Mr. Harlan leaned back and rubbed his face.
“That changes things.”
“It doesn’t just change things,” I said. “It is things.”
