We're just going to have a slumber party at Aunt Mae's tonight. Trust me. I'm going to catch a rat."

Thursday night in the West End was usually quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic from I-20. But at 2:00 a.m., a dark sedan with no headlights rolled slowly down the street where Lucille Banks lived.

Inside the car sat Inspector Graves. He was a man who had long ago traded his conscience for a gambling habit. Richard Sterling paid well, and Graves needed the money. He parked two blocks away and walked to the Victorian house carrying a tool bag. The house looked dark and abandoned.

Graves moved around to the side of the house and tampered with the gas line, deliberately creating a dangerous leak he could later claim to have discovered. Within minutes, the odorant in the gas was unmistakable. He took a photograph of his meter, then slapped a bright orange condemnation notice on the front door.

"Job done," Graves whispered.

He turned to leave, walking back toward the fence.

Click.

A floodlight blinded him. It came from the tree line of the neighbor's yard. Graves threw his hands up.

"Who's there?"

Silence. Then a second light flicked on from the porch of the house across the street. Then a third from the roof of the Banks house itself. He was illuminated like a performer on a stage.

"Inspector Graves," a voice projected from the darkness. It wasn't a shout. "You just deliberately damaged private property and created a serious public safety hazard."

Graves squinted against the glare. "Police? I'm city enforcement. I'm doing my job."

"No," the voice said. It was Julian. "You're doing Richard Sterling's job."

From the shadows of the porch, Julian Banks stepped out. He was holding a high-definition video camera. Next to him stood a woman in a police uniform wearing the badge of the Major Crimes Unit.

"Detective Angela Holloway," Julian said, gesturing to the officer. "Did you get all that?"

Detective Holloway nodded grimly. "Every frame, counselor."

Graves panicked and bolted for the fence.

"I wouldn't," the detective warned. "We have the perimeter secured. You can come with us quietly and tell us who sent you, or you can answer for this alone. Your choice, Graves."

Graves looked at the fence, then back at the detective. His shoulders slumped.

"It was Sterling," Graves spat out, his voice shaking. "He said he needed the old woman out by Friday."

Julian lowered the camera. He didn't look triumphant. He looked sad.

"Save it for the judge," Julian said. "See you in court."

Friday morning, 9:00 a.m. The atmosphere in Courtroom 4B was electric, vibrating with the kind of energy usually reserved for murder trials, not eviction cases. Word had spread through the Fulton County legal grapevine like wildfire. The rumor was that a Marshall ghost, a protégé of the legendary Justice Marshall, was fighting a partner from Sterling, Lockwood, and Pierce.

Every seat in the gallery was filled. Junior associates from rival firms, law students skipping class, and even a few clerks from other courtrooms had slipped in to watch the blood sport.

Richard Sterling entered the courtroom like a gladiator entering the Colosseum. He looked rested, his skin glowing from a morning facial, his suit a charcoal pinstripe that cost more than most people's cars. He didn't know about the arrest the night before. Graves had been booked quietly while investigators prepared the case.

Richard slammed his briefcase onto the plaintiff's table with a heavy thud, commanding attention. He glanced at the defense table. Julian Banks was there, but the hoodie was gone.

Today, Julian wore a navy blue three-piece suit. It was perfectly tailored, hugging his frame with sharp precision. His shirt was crisp white, and his tie was deep crimson silk. He no longer looked like a kid from the neighborhood. He looked like a shark in deep water.

"All rise," the bailiff bellowed.

Judge Holloway took the bench. He looked tired, his eyes scanning the packed room with suspicion.

"Civil Action 24-CV-908. Are we ready to proceed?"

"We are, Your Honor," Richard said, standing and buttoning his jacket. He projected an air of sorrowful duty. "And I have a preliminary matter that sadly disposes of this case immediately."

Richard walked to the bench holding a document high in the air like a weapon.

"Your Honor, as of 2:30 a.m. last night, the property in question was declared uninhabitable by city code enforcement. There is a verified dangerous gas leak. It is a severe public safety hazard."

He placed the report on the judge's bench.

"My client, Apex Horizon, is deeply concerned for the welfare of the defendant," Richard lied smoothly, his voice dripping with fake empathy. "We cannot in good conscience allow an 80-year-old woman to live in a dangerous house. We ask for an immediate order of possession so my client can enter the premises and remediate the hazard. For her own safety, she must be evicted today."

Judge Holloway frowned, putting on his reading glasses. He scanned the report.

"A gas leak? That is serious." He turned to Julian, his expression stern. "Mr. Banks, your grandmother is living in a dangerous property. I cannot allow her to stay there if this report is accurate."

The courtroom held its breath. Richard Sterling smirked at the gallery. It was over. He had won.