"The hearing—which case?"
"Patterson v. Whitfield County Sheriff's Department."
Adrian's hand stopped mid-reach for his coffee, just for a second, less than a second. Sandra noticed anyway.
"Civil rights action," she continued. "Plaintiff alleges a pattern of racially motivated traffic stops by the Whitfield County Sheriff's Department. Fourteen documented incidents over eight months, all Black motorists. Twelve resulted in no charges."
Adrian took the file, opened it, read the summary paragraph, then read it again: fourteen stops, twelve with no charges, all Black motorists, all on rural highways in Telfair and Whitfield counties, all between the hours of 10:00 p.m. and 2:00 a.m.
The plaintiff, a man named James Patterson, a schoolteacher from Warner Robins, had been pulled over three times in four months. The last time, they searched his car for forty-five minutes and found nothing but textbooks and a lunchbox.
Adrian closed the file, set it on the desk, placed both hands flat on the mahogany surface, and stared at the wood grain for a long moment.
"Judge Ross, do you need to recuse?" The question was precise. Sandra knew the rules: if a judge has a personal connection to a case—financial interest, family involvement, prior relationship with a party—recusal is mandatory.
But Adrian hadn't been a party to this case. He hadn't been a plaintiff or a witness. He'd been a victim of the same department, but he wasn't part of this litigation. His experience from last night was separate—legally separate. Ethically, the line was thinner. He knew it; Sandra knew it.
"No," Adrian said. "I don't."
Sandra held his gaze for three full seconds. Then she nodded, once. "The plaintiff's team will present first. They're bringing three witnesses and body camera footage from two of the stops. The defense has filed a motion to exclude the footage. You'll need to rule on that before testimony begins."
"And the defense witnesses?"
Sandra checked the list. "Four character witnesses for the department: two supervisors and two officers." She paused, looked at the names. "Sergeant Grady Wells and Officer Daniel Pike are both on the list."
She said the names the way you read ingredients on a label: routine, unremarkable. She had no reason to know those names; she had no reason to notice Adrian's jaw tighten when he heard them.
"They'll be in my courtroom?"
"Yes, sir. Scheduled for the afternoon session."
Adrian stood, walked to the window. Downtown Dalton spread out below: quiet streets, a few people heading to work, a coffee shop opening its doors—a normal Tuesday morning for everyone except him.
He turned back to Sandra. "I'll need the full case file: every exhibit, every deposition. And pull the department's internal affairs records for the last three years."
Sandra was already writing. "Anything else?"