The best word to describe my father is frumpy. He wears slacks too short and too high on his waist, sweaters that should have been given to the Salvation Army decades earlier, glasses that could fry a caterpillar in seconds. He has a full head of curly gray hair and three days’ worth of stubble on his chin.

I introduce him to Cal and Ray, both of whom have taken seats, waiting for what I've told them is concrete proof of my innocence.

“Do you have it?” I ask.

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the pink Samsung.

I take it from him. It's dead, the battery having run out.

“What's that?” asks Ray.

Holding the phone up with my right hand, I say, “It's the phone I found under the car, the phone I can assure you I was not lying about.”

“But we found Callie Freig's phone,” spits Cal.

“Maybe she had two,” Ray says with a shrug.

I lower it out of his reach and say, “It's not Callie's phone.”

“Then whose is it?” asks Ray.

“It's the President's.”

…

“The President? As in the President of the United States?” asks my father.

“Yep.”

Cal is laughing. Doubled over. He composes himself and says, “That's your proof.”

I hand the phone to Ray. “It's his.”

“Is the President even allowed to have a cell phone?” she asks, taking it.

“Of course not,” Cal manages.

“Actually, he can, and he does.”

Both Cal and Ray stare at my father. He continues, “Obama was so adamant that he be able to keep his Blackberry that they made a special stipulation that he could keep it.”

“Really?” I found myself asking. I'd hoped this was the case, but I was still surprised.

“Of course they had to make some considerations for national security, added encryption and disabled the GPS so no one could track him. But he was able to keep it and Connor Sullivan was allowed to keep his.”

“But it's pink,” shouted Cal. “And why are we even having this conversation? This is not the President of the United States’ cell phone.”

“The phone is white, the casing is pink,” I say. “And it's not just any pink casing. Look closer.”

Ray turns the phone over in her hand. “It's got a ribbon embossed on the back. It's a Susan B. Komen casing.”

“The First Lady,” remarks my dad.

The First Lady had been diagnosed with breast cancer two years earlier. They caught it early and it'd gone into remission.

Cal was silent.

Ray hits the button for the nurse and when one comes a moment later, Ray asks, “Does anyone have a Samsung charger here?”

“Deb would,” the nurse responds and returns a moment later with Deb's charger.

Ray plugs it in and it takes ten seconds for the phone to come alive.

“It's locked,” she says, showing everyone.

“The Washington Monument,” remarks my father.

“What?” asks Cal.