He shielded his eyes from the piercing sun. The night behind bars was little more than contempt charges, and his mission was not done.

Back in his home, the bed was neatly made, hospital corners evident, and slippers set perfectly perpendicular for ease.

He casually wandered back to the kitchen and saw her chopping vegetables.

“Hey.”
“Oh—you’ve returned.”
“Yes. I’m sorry about that bit in the courtroom.”
“Well, things happen.”
“I think it might be smart if I spent the night in the other room.”
“Suit yourself,” she said not looking at him.

She didn’t know that his time away was spent contemplating how to document her thieving ways. He had a plan. He would sleep in another room and then saunter over in the middle of night photographing her flopping around grabbing each inch of insulated cotton comfort with each turn.

His plan worked. He spent the wee hours posting his pictures on the web and emailing the judge. He printed one out just for her. In bold handwriting, he wrote, “J’accuse!”