He led me down a quiet corridor to a set of double oak doors.

Inside the grand jury room, dozens of faces looked up at me from rows of benches.

A court reporter sat at a small machine, her fingers poised over the keys.

I took my seat at the witness stand, my eyes fixed on the wooden railing in front of me.

I took a deep breath and began to speak.

I told them about the diner, about the late-night meetings, and about the threats.

I told them what Paul had done, and what I had seen him do for Corrado.

Every word felt like a weight lifting from my chest, rising up into the high ceiling of the room.

The court reporter’s machine clicked steadily, recording every syllable.

When I finished, there was a long moment of silence in the room.

“Thank you, Mrs. Vance,” the prosecutor said quietly. “You may step down.”

I stood up and walked out of the room without looking back.

Miller met me in the hallway, a small smile on his tired face.