Officer Brennan. Franklin folded his hands on the table. The handcuffs were off now. Small mercy. Badge number 2834.
You graduated from the police academy in November 2022, third in your class, assigned to fourth precinct initially, transferred here after 6 months. Brennan froze. How do you I may be retired, but I still review the state's justice reports, including police academy records. I wrote a recommendation letter supporting funding for your graduating class. The room went silent.
Hayes backed toward the door. Brad, we need to stop this right now. Brennan stood abruptly, chair scraped against lenolium. No, this is exactly what they do. They dig up public information, make it sound personal.
It's manipulation. The door burst open. Captain Torres stood in the frame, phone in hand, face drained of color. Brennan, out now. Captain, I'm in the middle of I just got a call from the governor's chief of staff.
Her voice shook, anger barely controlled. They're asking where Justice Oliver is. The summit starts in 30 minutes. The keynote speaker is missing. The silence that followed was absolute.
Torres approached Franklin. Professional mask cracking. Justice Oliver. Sir, I apologize. We didn't realize.
Franklin stood slowly, brushed off his slacks, blood still visible on the torn fabric. No, Captain, you didn't ask. His words landed like stones in water, ripples spreading. Your security detail called. Agent Reynolds is on route.
I don't have a security detail, Captain. I'm retired. The governor assigned one this morning for the summit. Franklin nodded. Mitchell was protective.
Always had been, even when they disagreed. Torres unlocked the interrogation room door fully. Sir, is there anything? I need the surveillance footage. All of it from the courthouse steps to this room.
Torres nodded, hands trembling as she made notes. and officer Brennan's personnel file, including complaint history. Brennan's face went white. Torres disappeared into her office, returned 2 minutes later with a file folder, handed it to Franklin. He opened it, scanned the pages, expression darkening with each line. 15 citizen complaints in 2 years.
Franklin's voice stayed level, but something in it had changed, hardened. 14 involving people of color. All investigated internally. All dismissed. Those were cleared by Brennan started by your fellow officers.
Franklin closed the file. That's the problem, isn't it? The system investigating itself. Katie Russo appeared in the hallway, tablet in hand. Justice Oliver.
Sir, the arrest was filmed. It's already online. She showed him the screen. Video playing. 60,000 views.
Comments section scrolling. Outrage building. Justice for Justice Oliver was trending. Franklin studied the video, watched himself stumble, watched the papers scatter, watched Brennan's boot push them aside. Good, he said quietly.
Let people see. The precinct had gone silent. Every officer watching Russo's Google search displayed on every computer screen. Photos of Franklin in Supreme Court robes. Articles about landmark cases.
His retirement ceremony with Governor Harrison. The truth spreading like wildfire. Torres cleared her throat. Sir, I want you to know we'll conduct a full investigation. Captain Torres.
Franklin's eyes met hers. I want Officer Brennan at the summit front row. Brennan jerked. What? You're going to hear every word of my speech and then we're going to talk about reform starting with you.
Torres opened her mouth, closed it. Sir, I can assign another officer ifβ No, him. He needs to understand what his assumptions cost. A black SUV pulled up outside. Government plates.
Agent Thomas Reynolds stepped out. 56 years old, former Secret Service, Governor's personal security chief. He entered the precinct with purpose. Badge already out. I'm here for Justice Franklin Oliver.
His voice carried authority that made every officer straighten. Where is he? The desk sergeant pointed mutely toward the hallway. Reynolds walked through, saw Franklin, saw the torn slacks, the blood, the crumpled papers in the evidence bag. His jaw tightened.
Justice Oliver. Sir. He stopped, struggling with protocol and anger. We've been looking everywhere. Are you?
I'm fine, Thomas. Franklin picked up his briefcase. Papers still scattered inside. Just delayed. Reynolds turned to Torres.
Who arrested him? Brennan stepped forward. Couldn't help himself. Habit of defending his actions. I did.
He was loitering. Did you verify his identification? It looked fake. The photo didn't match. Because people age, officer Reynolds's tone could cut glass.
Let's go, sir. The governor is waiting. Not yet. Franklin's voice stopped everyone. I have one more thing to do.
He turned to Brennan, looked at him directly, really looked, saw a young man, scared now. Scared, defensive, trained to see threats, never taught to see humans. Officer Brennan, you're coming with us. That's not a request. Torres nodded.
Brennan, you're assigned to Summit security detail. Go. Brennan looked at Hayes, desperate. Hayes just shook his head. No help coming.
The three of them walked out together. Franklin in the middle, Reynolds on one side, Brennan on the other. Like some strange escort, some twisted parade. The morning sun was bright, harsh, unforgiving. Franklin squinted.
His knees still hurt. His wrists were raw where the cuffs had bitten. His slacks were ruined. But he was walking back to that courthouse and he was bringing his arresting officer with him. Sometimes justice isn't about punishment.
It's about education, about forcing people to witness the consequences of their assumptions. Brennan sat in the passenger seat. Reynolds drove, Franklin in back. The silence was suffocating. Franklin watched the city pass.
The coffee shop where he met old colleagues, the park where he walked his granddaughter, the library where he'd researched his first case, his city, his home where he'd worked for 42 years. And this morning he'd been treated like trash on its courthouse steps. He pulled out his handkerchief, the monogrammed FTO, thought about Sarah, what she would say, how she would react. She'd died in 2018. Pneumonia, sudden, devastating.
Her last words, "Keep fighting, Frank. Don't let them win. " He wouldn't, but he'd fight differently than she might expect. Not with anger, with accountability. The courthouse appeared ahead. Limestone facade, brass doors gleaming.