Flames still clawed at the courthouse ruins when Julia and Brandon arrived, the night sky stained orange with smoke. Firefighters shouted orders through the haze, boots slamming against puddles of soot-soaked water. The air tasted bitter—burned wood, melted plastic, and the quiet death of truth.Brandon pushed past the caution tape before anyone could stop him. “My files were in there,” he said, voice hoarse. “Everything we had. Everything that could clear—”“Brandon, wait.” Julia grabbed his arm, but his eyes were fixed on the crumbling doorway like a man watching his past collapse in real time.Arthur arrived seconds later, breathless. “They’re calling it a structural malfunction,” he said. “Which means someone wanted this to look like an acci
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