Denise sat beside me at the dining table. Aaron stayed in the kitchen until Morgan asked whether he had anything to add about my condition when he met me at the hospital.
He did not describe the corridor. He had not been there, and Morgan made that distinction clear without making his observations sound unimportant.
When it was my turn, I started with the employee entrance. Morgan asked why I had used the public elevator, where I stood when it stopped, and how far I walked before Rourke spoke.
I showed her on the plan. The route looked simple on paper: elevator, clerk's station, staircase, a short stretch of hallway where a man had mistaken authority for certainty.
“What did he say about Ms. Benton?” Morgan asked.
“He used her name and told me I belonged in 4B. He didn't give me a case number or explain why he thought I was her.”
“Did you tell him your name before he touched you?”
“Yes.”
“What happened when you said your identification was in the briefcase?”
I repeated the exchange as closely as I could. Where the words were approximate, I said so; a judge's memory was still a human memory, whatever other people might later expect of it.
Morgan asked about the step toward the clerk's station. Denise leaned forward but did not interrupt while I explained that I wanted a staff member to confirm my identity.
“Did you tell him that before moving?”
“I said we could confirm it there. I cannot remember whether I pointed before I stepped.”
The admission made me anxious. I had seen enough trials to know how uncertainty could be enlarged until it overshadowed everything a witness remembered clearly.
Morgan asked about Rourke's grip, my response, and the slap. I demonstrated the wrist movement with my own hands rather than touching anyone, and she recorded which arm I believed he held.
“Why do you say believe?”
“Because I am reconstructing a moment under stress. The bruising is on my left arm. That fits my memory.”
She thanked me for separating the two. I felt foolishly relieved by the acknowledgment.
After my account, Morgan explained that she had obtained a preservation notice for the courthouse video system and was collecting witness statements independently. She would not tell me what Simone had said, and I did not ask.
There was, however, one matter Denise wanted addressed. A short description of the encounter had appeared online, attributing it to a security source and claiming that I refused to identify myself before striking an officer.
Morgan had seen it. She could preserve the publication and investigate any relevant source, but she could not stop every version from circulating while the facts were being examined.
“Has he filed that allegation formally?” I asked.
She said Rourke had submitted an incident report. Its contents would be reviewed against the recordings, the witnesses, and the physical evidence.
I wanted to see it immediately. Denise asked for access through the appropriate process, and Morgan noted the request without pretending she could hand over everything in an active inquiry.
Morgan asked me to identify which of the scattered papers might have contained private information, so the court could assess exposure without circulating the documents unnecessarily. I described categories rather than reading names aloud. Denise requested that any necessary copies be handled through a secure route, and Morgan noted the arrangement. The discussion was practical and unglamorous, precisely the kind of task that disappeared from public accounts while the people affected still depended on someone completing it carefully.
When the meeting ended, I felt more tired than after a full day on the bench. I had spent two hours describing a few minutes, trying not to improve them into a story more convenient than the truth.
Aaron cleared the cups while Denise helped me list questions for our next conversation. At the top, I wrote: What happened to Kara Benton?
Morgan saw the line as she put away the floor plan. “We are locating everyone relevant to the identification issue,” she said. “Please let us make those contacts.”
I nodded. For once, doing nothing more was not indifference; it was part of making sure the answer would mean something when it came.
I learned about Simone's interview through Denise rather than by calling her. The lawyer explained that gratitude could wait if direct contact risked making a witness feel coached, pressured, or responsible for reassuring me.