The defendant told me the judge would dismiss my testimony. I’m the judge hearing this case.

The Case on the Docket

That night I filed a complaint with the housing authority under my mother’s name. I documented the lack of heat with temperature readings and photographs, contacted a tenants rights organization, and did everything a concerned citizen could do.

But I knew from experience how slowly the bureaucracy moved, how many complaints got lost or ignored, and how landlords like Krauss had learned to game every system.

Monday morning I was back in my chambers at the county courthouse reviewing case files for the week. I’d been assigned to housing court for this month as part of the rotating judicial assignments.

It wasn’t glamorous work and most judges tried to avoid it because housing cases were tedious and emotionally draining. Tenants facing eviction, landlords seeking unpaid rent, disputes over deposits and damages—most cases were straightforward but depressing, people losing their homes over a few hundred dollars.

I reviewed the docket and my attention stopped on one case scheduled for Friday morning: Riverside Properties LLC versus Tenants Association of Riverside Towers. It was a class action lawsuit filed by tenants against the property management company over habitability issues.

The property management company was represented by Alan Whitmore, a competent attorney I’d seen in my court before. The tenants were represented by legal aid.

I read through the case file with growing interest. Thirty-two tenants had joined the lawsuit alleging systematic neglect of building maintenance, broken elevators, pest infestations, plumbing issues, and inadequate heat.

The building address was my mother’s building. The property management company’s representative listed on the filing was Victor Krauss.

I sat back in my chair and felt my heart rate accelerate. This was problematic.

I had direct personal knowledge of at least one of the issues being litigated. I’d witnessed Krauss’s behavior toward tenants and had filed a complaint myself.

Any reasonable person would say I should recuse myself from this case due to a conflict of interest. The judicial code of conduct was clear: judges must avoid even the appearance of impropriety.

I should call the chief judge immediately and request reassignment. My hand reached for the phone and stopped.

I thought about my mother shivering in her apartment and about Krauss’s confident smirk when he’d said judges always sided with property owners. I thought about the dozens of times he claimed he’d seen tenant complaints dismissed.

If I recused myself another judge would get the case. Maybe that judge would be fair, and maybe that judge would see through Krauss’s documentation and professional presentation.

Or maybe that judge would do exactly what Krauss predicted: dismiss the case quickly to clear the docket and side with the landlord who had lawyers and paperwork. The tenants would lose and nothing would change.

I spent the rest of Monday researching the boundaries of judicial recusal. The standards were more flexible than most people realized.

A judge wasn’t required to recuse simply because they had general knowledge of the parties or circumstances. The key question was whether a reasonable person would question the judge’s impartiality.

I could argue that my involvement was minimal; I’d filed one complaint as a family member of a tenant. I hadn’t been a party to the lawsuit and I hadn’t hired attorneys or taken formal legal action against Krauss or the property company.

But I knew I was rationalizing. I knew the ethical path was to recuse.

I also knew that if I did these tenants would likely lose because Krauss was right about one thing: the system often did favor property owners, not because judges were corrupt but because landlords could afford better representation and knew how to navigate procedures.

I made no decision Monday. Tuesday I was in criminal court handling arraignments and preliminary hearings.

Wednesday I had a settlement conference in a complex civil case that went until 8:00 p.m.. Thursday I finally called my mother.

“How’s the heat?”

I asked without preamble.

“Still not fixed. Mr krauss came by yesterday and said the part they needed was delayed maybe next week.”

Her voice was resigned; she’d given up expecting actual help.

“Are you using a space heater?”

“Yes you were right to suggest it though my electric bill is going to be terrible next month.”

She paused.

“Michael I don’t want you to worry about this i know you have important work i’ll be fine.”

Important work—like presiding over a case where I could actually help her and the other tenants or recusing myself because it was the ethical thing to do. Thursday night I barely slept, lying awake weighing my options and their consequences.

If I recused the tenants would likely lose and Krauss would continue his pattern of neglect and intimidation. If I stayed on the case and ruled against the property company, Krauss could appeal claiming bias.

He could argue that my personal connection to one of the tenants invalidated the ruling and could potentially get the entire judgment overturned. Either way the tenants might lose but at least if I stayed they had a chance at a fair hearing.

Friday morning I arrived at the courthouse at 7:00 a.m. and reviewed the Riverside property’s case file one more time. The tenants complaint was detailed and well documented despite being filed by legal aid.

They had photographs of broken elevators and pest infestations, affidavits from multiple tenants describing the same patterns of neglect, and temperature readings showing apartments consistently below the legal minimum.

The property company’s response was smooth and professional. They acknowledged some maintenance issues but characterized them as minor and temporary.

They claimed they were addressing everything according to proper procedures and included documentation of work orders and contractor invoices. It was the kind of paper trail that looked impressive to judges who didn’t look too closely.

The Honorable Judge Michael Davidson Presiding

I put on my robe at 8:45 a.m. and walked to the courtroom. Housing court was held in the smallest courtroom in the building, dingy and outdated with fluorescent lighting that flickered.

Most of the gallery was empty except for about 20 elderly people sitting on the left side: the tenants. On the right side sat Alan Whitmore and two people I didn’t recognize, probably company representatives.

I took my seat at the bench and the bailiff called the court to order.

“All rise. The honorable judge Michael Davidson presiding. Court is now in session.”

I looked down at the parties and saw Alan Whitmore shuffle papers at his table. Next to him sat a woman in a business suit and Victor Krauss.

Krauss was looking at his phone and barely glanced up when the bailiff spoke. He hadn’t seen me yet, hadn’t made the connection between the judge and the man he’d threatened in the apartment building hallway six days ago.

“This is case number 2024 HC 11856 Riverside Properties LLC versus Tenants Association of Riverside Towers. Is plaintiff ready?”

Alan Whitmore stood.

“Ready your honor.”

“Is defense ready?”

The legal aid attorney stood, a young woman probably fresh out of law school.

“Ready your honor.”

I looked directly at Victor Krauss.

“Will the parties please introduce themselves for the record?”

Alan started with the standard introduction.

“Alan Whitmore representing Riverside Properties LLC with me today is Karen Yates the property owner and Victor Krauss property manager.”

Krauss finally looked up from his phone as his name was called. His eyes swept up to the bench and stopped on my face.

I watched the recognition hit him in stages: confusion first, then realization, then something close to panic. His face went pale and he grabbed Alan Whitmore’s arm leaning in to whisper urgently.

I continued as if I’d noticed nothing and for the defense the legal aid attorney introduced herself as Jennifer Cho and listed the 32 tenant plaintiffs by name. My mother’s name was 14th on the list.

“Mr witmore I see you’re moving to dismiss this complaint. Before we proceed to testimony would you like to present your argument?”

Alan stood again but Krauss was still whispering frantically in his ear. Alan looked annoyed and confused; he clearly had no idea what his client was trying to tell him.

“Your honor may I have a brief moment to consult with my client?”

“You may.”

I watched Allan lean down and listen to whatever Krauss was saying. His expression changed from annoyed to concerned to skeptical.

They whispered back and forth for about 30 seconds. Then Allan straightened up and his face was carefully neutral.

“Your honor my client has just informed me of a potential conflict of interest that requires the court’s immediate attention. May we approach?”

“You may.”

Both attorneys came to the bench. Krauss stayed seated but he was staring at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read: fear mixed with calculation.