“She said the scanner was annoying, but at least it didn’t care what job she looked like she had.”
Vanessa swallowed.
“That is the best retirement gift anyone has given me today.”
The young woman smiled.
Then left.
Vanessa stood quietly.
Her niece touched her arm.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You’re crying.”
“I’m retired.”
“I’m allowed.”
Her niece laughed.
They walked toward the exit.
At the security door, Vanessa automatically reached toward the credential she no longer needed.
Then stopped.
Her judicial access had been deactivated that morning.
She was officially a visitor now.
The young deputy marshal at the door smiled.
“Visitor screening is through the front lobby, ma’am.”
Her niece looked horrified.
“She’s Judge—”
Vanessa lifted one finger.
Her niece stopped.
Vanessa looked toward the marshal.
“Of course.”
They turned.
Walked toward the public elevators.
Her niece stared.
“Aren’t you even going to tell him?”
“No.”
“He should know who you are.”
Vanessa smiled.
“No.”
“He should know what the rule is.”
Her niece groaned.
“You have been waiting thirty years to say that.”
“Almost.”
They entered the elevator.
Doors closed.
Vanessa laughed so hard she had to lean against the wall.
Her niece eventually joined her.
When they reached the public lobby, Vanessa went through visitor screening.
Bag on the conveyor.
Metal detector.
Temporary visitor badge.
The security officer said:
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Vanessa clipped the badge to her jacket.
No anger.
No insult.
No special treatment.
Perfect.
Outside, Washington was bright after morning rain.
Samuel waited near the curb.
He lifted his cane.
“You got lost?”
Vanessa smiled.
“Visitor entrance.”
He laughed.
“Beautiful.”
“Very.”
They walked slowly toward lunch.
Vanessa looked back once.
Massive courthouse columns.
Flags moving in the wind.
People entering.
Attorneys.
Tourists.
Defendants.
Employees.
Police.
Couriers.
People who looked powerful.
People who did not.
Years earlier, a police officer had looked at Vanessa in that world and decided:
You don’t belong here.