Hayes steps closer, intimidation radiating from his posture. I've read your previous papers. You have a clear bias against law enforcement. I have a bias toward justice. Washington doesn't back away, which sometimes requires asking uncomfortable questions.
Spencer appears at Hayes's shoulder. We've reviewed your request. Those case files are part of ongoing investigations. Access denied. That contradicts the DA's authorization.
Take it up with them. Hayes smiles coldly. We're done here for today. Johnson shifts uncomfortably beside them. Hayes notices.
Johnson, escort Dr. Washington out. Make sure she signs out properly. In the elevator, Johnson stands stiffly. Washington studies his reflection in the polished doors. You've been here three years, Officer Johnson.
He nods. Yes, ma'am. You believe in the oath you took? The elevator stops, doors open. Johnson meets her eyes directly for the first time.
Every word of it. Washington hands him her card. If you ever want to discuss that oath in detail, my office hours are on there. Hayes watches from the lobby as Johnson escorts her out. His phone is already at his ear. "
We have a problem, " he mutters to the person on the other end. The professor knows too much. Hayes thinks he's setting a trap, but he's actually building his own cage. " They're watching her every move, but they don't realize she's counting their mistakes. The evidence they plan to plant tonight will become exhibit A against them. "
Dr. Washington's university office sits quiet in the early evening. Campus security cameras record three men in maintenance uniforms entering the criminal justice building at 9:42 p. m. They carry tool boxes and work authorization forms signed by the facility's director. 2 Hours later, Washington returns to her office. She unlocks her door and flips on the light. Something feels immediately wrong.
The air smells different. Papers on her desk sit at slightly different angles than she left them. She notices a small scuff mark on her bookshelf that wasn't there before. Her eyes travel deliberately to the corner where she installed her own hidden camera last month. Washington opens her desk drawer and freezes.
A plastic bag containing white powder sits a top her research notes. Beside it, a Manila folder marked Confidential Boston PD contains case files she's never seen before. She doesn't touch either item. Instead, she takes out her phone and calls campus security. This is Dr. Washington in criminal justice.
I need to report a break-in and planted evidence in my office. The responding officers arrive quickly. Too quickly. They're Boston PD, not campus security. Lieutenant Hayes steps through her doorway with a search warrant in hand.
Anonymous tip about stolen police files and narcotics, he announces with poorly concealed satisfaction. Judge Donovan was quite concerned. The officer search with theatrical thoroughess, finding exactly what they planted. Camera flashes punctuate the moment as evidence is documented. Washington stands perfectly still, watching every move, memorizing every face.
Dr. Zoe Washington, you're under arrest for possession of controlled substances and theft of confidential police documents. Hayes snaps handcuffs around her wrists with unnecessary force. You have the right to remain silent. The hallway has filled with students and faculty. Hayes ensures the walk of shame is as public as possible.
Whispers follow them. Professor Washington arrested. Drugs in her office. Police files. Internal affairs director Spencer waits by the police cruiser.
His smirk vanishes when Washington looks directly into his eyes without a trace of fear. " Your research materials are being confiscated as evidence, " Spencer informs her, waving officers toward her office. " All electronic devices, notes, and records. I assume you have the proper warrants for my intellectual property. Washington's voice remains steady.
All perfectly legal, Hayes assures her, loud enough for witnesses, unlike your activities. The ride to the precinct passes in silence. Washington stares out the window, mentally calculating timelines and vulnerabilities. Hayes watches her in the rear view mirror, mistaking her calm for defeat. The processing area hums with late night efficiency.
Fingerprints, mug shots, personal belongings cataloged and confiscated. Washington notices Officer Johnson at a desk, his eyes widening briefly before he looks away. Judge Donovan arrives at the station near midnight, an unusual hour for a judge to appear for a routine academic's arrest. She signs additional warrants with barely a glance at the supporting documents. Preliminary hearing is scheduled for Thursday morning, Donovan informs Hayes, ignoring Washington completely.
Keep her contained until then. No bail? Washington finally speaks. Donovan addresses her with cold disdain. Flight risk.
Potential to destroy evidence. The cell door closes with a heavy clang. Washington sits on the thin mattress, back straight, face unreadable. Down the hall, Hayes opens champagne in the breakroom. Officers toast to the professor's downfall.
That should end her little investigation. Spencer laughs. Who's going to believe a drugusing professor who steals police files in her cell? Washington lies back and stares at the ceiling. She's calculated every move, anticipated every reaction.
The chess pieces are exactly where they need to be. They're celebrating tonight, drinking to her downfall. Their glasses might as well be filled with evidence. The handcuffs felt cold, but not as cold as the justice that's coming. Her new office is already prepared.
They just don't know it's the commissioners. Officer Eric Johnson sits alone in the precinct's evidence room. The arrest video plays on his monitor for the third time. Something doesn't add up. The time stamp on the anonymous tip, 10:37 p. m. The warrant approval, 10:42 p. m. 5 minutes for Judge Donovan to review evidence and approve a search warrant, a process that typically takes hours.
Johnson pauses the footage, zooming in on Washington's face. No surprise when they discovered the drugs, almost as if she expected them. His cursor hovers over the database search bar. He types Washington Marcus. The system returns a case file from 15 years ago.
Drug possession, felony charges, maximum sentence from Judge Donovan. Prosecuting attorney, William Spencer, before his internal affairs promotion. Arresting officer, Robert Hayes, then a patrol sergeant. Johnson reads deeper. Multiple appeal attempts, all denied.
Claims of planted evidence, all dismissed. The parallels to Dr. Washington's situation twist Johnson's stomach into knots. The cell block remains quiet at 3:00 a. m. Johnson nods to the night guard, claiming a forgotten interview form needs signing. The guard barely looks up from his phone. Dr. Washington sits upright on her cell bunk, eyes open, as if she's been expecting him.
Officer Johnson. Her voice betrays no fear, no desperation. Working late? Just following up on some paperwork. He glances at the security camera in the corner.
Its red light off. Maintenance said the surveillance system needs updating. Should be fixed by morning. Washington's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in her eyes. Recognition.
Understanding. " I looked up your brother's case, " Johnson says quietly. " Did you find it educational? " " Found it familiar. " Johnson leans against the bars. "