"Yes, Mama. He would've been angry."
She looked toward him.
Then he continued.
"But he would've wanted us to handle it right."
She smiled sadly.
"That's true."
For a long time, they sat together.
The house was quiet.
And the general began remembering the ordinary things his father had taught him.
How to repair a broken chair.
How to change a tire.
How to apologize.
How to listen when someone was frightened.
And how to understand that being strong didn't mean using strength against someone who couldn't fight back.
Those lessons had shaped his entire life.
Now they would guide what he did next.
The general's teenage daughter called that evening.
She had seen a short version of the video online.
At first, she didn't realize the elderly woman was her grandmother.
Then she recognized the floral dress.
She immediately called her father.
"Dad?"
He answered from the kitchen.
"Hey, sweetheart."
Her voice trembled.
"Is Grandma okay?"
He closed his eyes.
"She's home. The doctors checked her, and we're taking care of her."
There was a pause.
Then his daughter whispered, "I saw what that officer did."
The general looked toward the living room.
His mother was resting on the couch.
He lowered his voice.
"I know."
The girl began crying.
"He hit Grandma."
The general felt anger rise again.
He took a slow breath.
"Yes."
"Why?"
He leaned against the kitchen counter.
For several seconds, he searched for an answer.
He could explain the officer's abuse of authority.
He could discuss poor judgment, prejudice, inadequate supervision, or the way fear and arrogance sometimes become dangerous together.
But none of those explanations would make the slap reasonable.
So he answered honestly.
"I don't know everything that was going through his mind."
His daughter was quiet.
Then he continued.
"But I know she didn't deserve it."
The girl swallowed.
"I wish Grandpa was still here."
The general looked toward the old photograph.
"So do I."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she asked whether he was angry.
He laughed sadly.
"Very."
She hesitated.
Then asked, "Are you going to do something?"
The question touched him.
He thought about the baton.
The sergeant's wrist.
And the moment he could have allowed anger to take control.
Then he remembered the promise he made beside his father's hospital bed.
"Yes," he answered.
His daughter waited.
"I'm going to make sure the facts are examined properly. And I'm going to take care of Grandma."