Page 30 of Torgash

My hands tremble as I unfold it, dread pooling in my stomach. The headline from six years ago burns across my vision: "Local Woman Found Dead in Apparent Drug Deal Gone Wrong." Below it, Carman's smiling face stares back at me, younger, hopeful, alive.

The official story. The lie that buried her truth.

I drop into my chair, my legs suddenly unsteady. Fresh ink on printer paper. Someone pulled this from an online archive, researched me, found my weakness, and decided to exploit it.

Morris. Has to be Morris. But how does he know about Carman? About the connection between a dead girl in Atlanta and a sheriff in Shadow Ridge?

Unless someone told him.

I fold the article carefully, sliding it into my drawer under the Bauer files. They've done their research. They know exactly how to hurt me.

But they're wrong about one thing. Carman isn't a weakness they can exploit. She's the reason I'm here, the fuel that's driven every decision since I pinned on this badge. They think they're threatening me.

They're reminding me why I fight.

Santos appears in my doorway. "Sheriff? Judge Hendricks moved up the Bauer foreclosure hearing. You wanted to be there."

Right. The elderly couple whose farmland Royce has been circling like a vulture. Mr. Bauer called yesterday, voice shaking with desperation, explaining how they couldn't afford a lawyer but heard the new sheriff might help.

"What time?" I ask, checking my watch.

"Ten minutes ago. The courthouse is running behind, but you should probably head over."

I grab my jacket and keys, shoving thoughts of printed articles and missing deputies into the compartment where I keep things that can't be solved immediately. Right now, an elderly couple needs someone in their corner.

The ride to the courthouse takes twelve minutes, and I spot Diesel's bike following at a careful distance before I'm halfway there. By now, the surveillance has become routine, predictable enough that I've started timing their shifts, noting their patterns. Knox handles most shifts as the prospect. Diesel covers midday. Ash fills in whenever he deems necessary.

Surveillance dressed up as safety.

Inside the courthouse, I head for Judge Hendricks's courtroom, nodding to the bailiff who recognizes me from previous hearings. The Bauer case should be straightforward, an elderly couple trying to fight an improper foreclosure, armed with nothing but righteous indignation and a case file thinner than tissue paper.

I slip into the gallery just as proceedings begin, scanning the courtroom for familiar faces. The Bauers sit in the front row, he in an ill-fitting suit, she clutching a worn purse like a lifeline. Across the aisle, Royce's legal team spreads across a full bench, briefcases and suits worth more than most Shadow Ridge residents make in a year.

And at the defendant's table, broad shoulders unmistakable even in a tailored jacket, sits Ash.

He's traded his leather cut for courtroom attire, but nothing can disguise the controlled power in his posture or the way other attorneys give him a wide berth. This is Ash in his element, not the brawler from Murphy's parking lot, but the orc who tried to manage me under the guise of protection just days ago. Same control. Different battlefield.

"Your Honor," the lead attorney for the foreclosure company begins, "this is a simple matter of contract default. The defendants failed to meet their financial obligations as outlined in—"

"Objection." Ash's voice cuts through the courtroom, silencing everyone. He rises slowly, and even in civilian clothes, he dominates the space. "Counsel is misrepresenting the facts. My clients were never in default because the loan modification they were promised was never processed."

Judge Hendricks adjusts his glasses, jaw tight as he studies Ash with obvious distaste. "Mr. Thornshade, can you substantiate that claim?"

"I can, Your Honor." Ash produces a folder thick with documentation. "Bank records show my clients made every required payment during the modification period. The foreclosure proceedings were initiated in error."

I watch him work, and it's like watching a master craftsman. Every gesture deliberate, every word calculated for maximum impact. He presents evidence with the same precision he probably used to dismantle Victor Hargrove's empire, methodical, thorough, devastating.

But what catches me off guard isn't his legal acumen. It's the moment he turns to explain something to Mrs. Bauer, voice dropping to something gentle, patient. He takes her weathered hand in his massive one, speaking slowly, making sure she understands every step of the process.

This isn't performance. You can't fake that kind of care. The gentleness, the genuine care in his expression, it's the same quality I glimpsed that night at Murphy's when he held back his violence despite having every excuse to unleash it.

"Furthermore, Your Honor," Ash continues, returning his attention to the judge, "the foreclosure company violated state notification requirements. My clients were never properly informed of their right to request a hearing."

The opposing counsel scrambles, shuffling papers, clearly unprepared for this level of resistance. They expected an elderly couple with no representation, an easy victory in an ongoing campaign to strip away everything of value in Shadow Ridge.

But then the lead attorney rallies. "Your Honor, while Mr. Thornshade raises procedural concerns, the fundamental issue remains unchanged. The defendants signed a loan agreement with specific terms and have failed to meet their obligations."

Judge Hendricks nods, studying the paperwork before him. "Mr. Thornshade, the loan application is quite clear about the payment schedule your clients agreed to."

---