Jack adjusted the chair for JJ before standing behind her, scanning the expansive backyard. Two Black gardeners were bent over in the scorching sun, tending to the lawn with wide-brimmed hats shading their faces.
He forced himself to shake off the eerie déjà vu of a 19th-century plantation and refocused his thoughts, speaking in a reassuring tone.
"I know this is difficult to process, but we—"
Cynthia, the former judge's wife, let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yes… but not entirely."
She shook her head slightly, an indescribable expression crossing her face. "He hasn't been the man I married for a long time. He became bitter. Angry. Irritable."
She waved a hand to cut off JJ, who had been about to speak. "I'm not making excuses for him. I just want you to understand—"
"People change, don't they?" Jack finished the sentence for her.
"You're exactly right." Cynthia sighed deeply, stretching out her hand toward the teapot on the table, making a small gesture for Jack to help himself, as if they were longtime confidants.
"When I first met him, he was kind, thoughtful, and deeply committed to upholding the sanctity of the law."
JJ, already thinking along the same lines as Jack, gave a warm smile to make her question seem less sharp.
"Cynthia, was Howard Roark already a judge when you met him?"
"Of course not." Cynthia let out a dry chuckle, but quickly schooled her features and sipped her tea to hide any lingering resentment.
"We met after he moved back from Baltimore. In 2010, he ran for district attorney there and lost. That's why he came back to Forrest City."
So, Howard Roark had spent over a decade as an assistant prosecutor with no career advancement—until he returned home in defeat. Jack silently added this to his mental notes.
"And once he was back in his hometown, he gained support to become a judge?" JJ prompted knowingly.
Cynthia let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, hardly."
She finally turned away from the garden, giving them a frank, almost scornful look. "The only reason he was supported was because he married me.
My father was the head of the state police at the time. And everyone in this town knew my mother. Her family owns the largest farm in Arkansas."
Ah. Jack instantly understood. A classic American version of a "live-in son-in-law" situation.
Howard Roark had relied on his wife's powerful family to climb the judicial ladder.
Everything made sense now.
After another decade of stagnation in the county court system, his frustration boiled over. Facing his wife's dominant family and his own shattered ambitions, the judge had snapped.
Cynthia confirmed their suspicions. "As I said earlier, before he admitted to himself that his career was dead, he had already changed completely.
His law school classmates and former colleagues had all moved up in the world. Only he was still stuck in Forrest City, going nowhere."
Jack glanced around at the lavish garden, sighing. "If it were me, I think I could be perfectly content in a beautiful hot springs town like this. Enjoying quiet days with my wife, strolling through a lovely garden… What more could anyone ask for?"
Cynthia smiled at him. "Howard is not like you. He does not have a calm or strong heart."
She gestured toward herself. "He blamed everyone around him. He blamed the very system he once claimed to fight for. Look at what he did to me."
She pushed up her sleeve, revealing a dark, fading bruise on her forearm. Then, she tugged down the collar of her blouse just slightly, exposing a healing wound on her collarbone.
"He hit you?" JJ was surprised.
Despite her delicate exterior, Cynthia Roark had an unmistakable strength to her. She didn't seem like someone who would easily suffer domestic abuse.
Cynthia exhaled, her voice even. "I told you before—I'm having my lawyer handle everything. I'm not trying to distance myself from his actions. I'm simply stating facts.
A week ago, on the weekend, he met someone. When he came back, he lost it. He screamed. Threw things.
And after he did this to me, I had his belongings packed, grabbed my father's old Winchester, and pointed it at him."
She nodded toward the rifle mounted above the fireplace inside—a Winchester Model 1866, beautifully inlaid with gold and silver.
It was less a weapon and more an art piece.
"Then I called my lawyer. And I haven't seen him since."
Jack couldn't help but smirk slightly. Now this—this was the Southern woman he knew.
JJ, sensing they had finally reached a breakthrough, leaned forward. "Who did he meet with that day?"
Cynthia's tone was calm once more. "An old friend. Arthur Hobbs, the chairman of the state bar association."
Leaving the Roark family estate, Jack remained deep in thought.
JJ finally nudged him. "You've been quiet for a while. What are you thinking?"
"I'm wondering if live-in son-in-law stories would sell well here," Jack said absentmindedly.
JJ frowned. "Live-in son-in-law?"
The concept existed in Western culture. Words like uxorilocal and matrilocal referred to men who married into their wives' families.
Even European royal families had prince consorts—men who technically married into the queen's lineage rather than the other way around.
But the "live-in son-in-law" trope wasn't as common in Western media. There were plenty of billionaire romance and alpha male stories, but the idea of a husband constantly being looked down upon by his powerful in-laws was rare.
However, now that Jack thought about it, plenty of men in high society did marry into wealthy families to secure political or financial power.
So why wasn't the trope more popular?
JJ squinted at him. "Are you thinking about switching from writing detective novels to this?"
Jack immediately snapped out of his musings. "No, no, of course not. I was just thinking about adding it as a subplot for my Detective Jack series. You know, give the protagonist an interesting background to spice things up."
JJ didn't look convinced.
She was already suspicious about Jack's involvement in short dramas and mobile storytelling platforms. She knew he had deep connections with the Wolfe brothers and Justin. She also knew they had been working with Zoe's family—the powerful Andersons.
Jack had claimed his stake in these projects came from providing creative input and consulting.
But given the mysterious wave of anonymous bestselling billionaire romance novels dominating the charts lately…
JJ was starting to have doubts.
"Hmm…" she muttered, half-listening.
Jack, completely oblivious to the danger, kept driving toward Little Rock.
By early evening, they arrived at the Arkansas Court of Appeals.
This was where they finally met Arthur Hobbs—a truly influential figure, a state supreme court judge and the absolute top of the Arkansas judicial system.
In comparison, Howard Roark was nothing.
Hobbs was the textbook image of a senior judge—his hair neatly combed back, mostly gray but still thick. He was clean-shaven, well-spoken, and exuded an air of authority.
When he greeted them, his expression was just somber enough to be appropriate.
"I was saddened to hear about the tragic events at the St. Francis County District Attorney's Office," he said smoothly.
"My deepest condolences to those who lost their lives in service to justice."
(End of Chapter)
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