Semua Bab Dr. KILLER : Bab 11 - Bab 20

The press conference was definitely Helena's idea.That much was obvious from the staging — the steps of the District Court building, chosen deliberately for its columns and its flags and the way cameras had to angle upward to capture whoever stood there, making them look larger than normal. A podium had been set up. Microphones clustered like a bouquet. Behind it, two of Helena's senior aides stood with the practiced stillness of people who had attended enough of these to know exactly what to do and how to act.I watched it from my office television at ten past eleven.I had been warned this was going to happen by Reginald. Reginald had called at nine, his voice carrying the particular flatness he used when delivering information he found professionally inconvenient. Judge Bergmann is making a statement this morning. I would advise you to watch it. Also, I would further advise you not to react publicly to anything she says, no matter how provoking it is.I had said I understood, but

Karma's POV My mobile phone buzzed again and again.I was reluctant to answer the call because it was an unknown number. Different from Mia's.I stared at it for a few seconds then decided to answer it.Clicking the green answer button, I expected to hear an immediate introduction but there was silence on the other end. I was going to cut the call when I heard a voice say, "am I speaking with Dr Kuntz?"I hesitated. Because that voice sounded awfully familiar, but I couldn’t place a name to the voice. "Ye-s-s-s-s”. "Who am I speaking with?" "I need to speak with you. Not as a judge, but as a mother. This is Helena."“What the—” I answered, jumping up on my feet in shock. “The Helena Bergmann?!” I asked with a mocking laughter, sitting back very slowly to continue the conversation. Why are you calling me? I thought to myself. Because for a woman like Judge Helena Bergmann to call me sounding like she was stripped of her authority, it meant only one thing. She needed something.

Noah's POV I stood in her office alone.I looked at the two empty containers in my hands.I put them in the bin.I looked at her desk and noticed that the file she had been holding was on the edge, slightly crooked. I straightened it. Then I straightened the pen beside it. Finally looking at my palms, I realized what I was doing and stopped."You are now tidying her desk?" I asked myself rhetorically then stepped back.You drove across the city with lasagna at three PM, and now you are tidying her desk like a man who has completely lost his mind.I had completely lost my mind.I picked up her coffee cup — it was cold, been there for hours — and I put it on the tray by the door. Moved a stack of files that had been leaning at a dangerous angle. Found a cap for a pen that had been sitting without one.I was still tidying.I sat down in the patient chair and looked at her desk and thought about the way she had said because they are yours — no, that was what I had said. I had said that.

Karma's POVThe boardroom on the eighteenth floor smelled faintly of coffee and disinfectant, a scent that somehow managed to feel both expensive and clinical. Twelve leather chairs sat arranged around the long walnut table with almost military precision. Ten of them were occupied. At the far end of the room, Martins stood stiffly beside the podium, papers clutched in both hands like a shield.I knew exactly what this meeting was about.The moment my father's death became public, this meeting became inevitable. Men like the ones sitting around this table could smell weakness the way sharks smelled blood. They had spent years smiling at me during charity galas, congratulating me on expansion projects, praising quarterly reports, and pretending they weren't waiting for the first opportunity to pull me down from the position I had built with my own hands.And now they thought they had found it.What they didn't understand was that I had not survived Marcus Kuntz only to be intimidated by

Helena's POVThere is a dangerous difference between making a mistake and refusing to correct one.I had crossed that line weeks ago.The realization did not come all at once. It arrived quietly, in fragments. A sentence overheard. A file left open for too long. A meeting that had suddenly become invitation-only.And now, standing outside Conference Room Three in the Ministry of Justice building, I realized something far worse than a wrongful prosecution was unfolding. They were no longer interested in finding Marcus Kuntz's killer.They were interested in making sure Dr. Karma Kuntz became one.The heavy wooden door wasn't fully closed, voices drifted into the hallway."...the jury pool needs to see consistency.""The media has already done half the work.""By the time this reaches trial, public opinion will already have convicted her."I remained perfectly still.Years on the bench had taught me that people revealed their worst intentions when they believed they were speaking to all