Kindle, paperback and hardcover editions on Amazon.

Doctor Wesley Karim has testified three hundred and forty times and has never once been excluded. That record is his whole practice.

At twenty minutes past six on a Monday morning in June he finds a photograph in his own case file: a hundred and thirty-one feet of black rubber on a wet freeway shoulder. He has measured that skid eleven times, in eleven unrelated cases, across nine years. The arithmetic is correct every time. The road is not.

It was never a forgery. It was a calibration, run at a proving ground on a morning in June, photographed to evidentiary standard, and dropped into eleven case files by a job that runs at fourteen minutes past nine. It did not need to fool a jury. It needed one witness nobody could move.

To prove what was done to him, Wesley will have to say out loud what he has spent four years not saying to his own wife: that he has not stood at a crash scene since the morning he went down a canal embankment with a survey rod in his hand. Saying it costs a young engineer his license, a practice with eleven people in it, and the seal Wesley has carried since 1998.

A young defense associate has the same eleven files on the floor of a war room, and no idea yet that she was handed them. And somewhere in it is a man who did the arithmetic in 2016, and was right, and is still right.