I never told my in-laws that I am the daughter of the President of the Supreme Court. When I was seven months pregnant, they forced me to cook the entire Christmas dinner alone.

Then the voice returned with terrifying authority.

“Gregory Gaines,” the man said.

“Yes,” Gregory replied nervously.

“This is Chief Justice Franklin Parker of the United States Supreme Court,” the voice declared with controlled fury.

Gregory froze and stared at the phone as if it had turned into a weapon.

Every lawyer in America recognized that name because Franklin Parker had written some of the most powerful legal opinions in modern history.

“You harmed my daughter and endangered my grandchild,” my father said slowly.

“It was an accident,” Gregory stammered while panic filled his voice. “She slipped in the kitchen.”

“Remain exactly where you are,” my father replied. “Federal marshals are already on their way to your house.”

Gregory’s face turned pale.

“You cannot do that,” he said desperately. “This is a private matter.”

“You assaulted the daughter of a protected federal official,” my father answered. “Pray she survives.”

The call ended.

Gregory dropped the phone and stared at me with pure terror.

“Your father is the Chief Justice,” he whispered.

I looked at him with a tired smile.

“I warned you that you did not know who wrote the law,” I said softly.