“It’s straightforward,” Daniel said one evening, firmer now. “You accept the citation. Pay the fine. It ends there.” “And if I don’t?” she asked. He exhaled slowly. Controlled. “Then it turns into something else. An inquiry. People start asking how it got into your system if you’re claiming you didn’t take it.” She stared at him. “Because I didn’t.”
“I believe you,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “But belief isn’t the same as proof. And proof invites questions.” He reached across the table, covering her hand with his. Familiar. Grounding. “You don’t want them tearing through your life,” he continued. “Your medical records. Your work. The house. Especially not now.”