“If a DNA test proves my teacher abused me when I was nine, will you help me destroy the man who called me a liar?” My neighbor, Evelyn Brooks, asked me this at 2 a.m., standing barefoot outside my door. She was thirty-one, a doctor, and the quietest woman on our street. I invited her inside. Through tears, she told me her former class teacher, Mr. Harold Vance, had molested her when she was a child. When she finally told her parents, he was a respected educator with powerful friends. He denied everything. Her family couldn't afford a lawyer, and the shame forced Evelyn into silence. She had spent twenty-two years believing nobody would ever believe her. Then she discovered that another former student had accused the same man. “I saved $65,000 to open my own medical clinic,” she whispered. “But I’m ready to spend every dollar proving he did this.” I asked whether she had evidence. She pulled a sealed envelope from her handbag. Inside was a letter from a lawyer explaining how a DNA test might help assess a potential case. Then she showed me a photograph of the man she accused. He was now a billionaire's personal bodyguard, protected by wealth and influence. Evelyn stared at the photograph. “He told me nobody would ever believe a little girl over him.” Then she looked at me. “Tomorrow, I'm going to ask him for the truth. If he denies it again, I don't know how I'll survive another rejection.”