Ruiz looked between them.
Then began.
Dispatch reported a possible robbery suspect moving toward Brookfield Park.
Initial description: young Black male, late teens or early twenties.
Mercer saw Jordan.
Approached.
During the encounter, additional details arrived.
Red jacket.
Braided hair.
Possible facial scar.
Jordan matched none of them except age, race, and sex.
Ruiz said she informed Mercer.
Mercer continued detention.
Then Jordan questioned the basis.
Mercer interpreted it as noncompliance.
Bennett looked at Jordan.
“You were handcuffed?”
Jordan checked his wrists.
“No. He had my arms behind me but didn’t cuff me.”
Nathan noticed that.
Interesting.
Mercer had threatened arrest without completing it.
Perhaps he wanted submission more than custody.
Bennett asked:
“Any force?”
Jordan laughed bitterly.
“Define force.”
Nathan looked at him.
Jordan stopped.
He was angry.
Rightfully.
But Nathan wanted accuracy.
“Sergeant pushed me down and twisted my arm.”
Bennett looked at Ruiz.
She nodded.
“Body camera?”
“Active.”
Bennett turned to Mercer.
“Give me the camera.”
Mercer’s face changed.
“Captain—”
“Now.”
He removed it.
Slowly.
Bennett placed it inside an evidence bag provided by another supervisor.
Nathan noticed immediately.
Good.
Correct procedure.
Mercer looked toward Nathan.
“This is happening because he’s your son.”
Nathan answered before Bennett could.
“No.”
“It’s happening because there’s a complaint about force during a detention whose factual basis appears questionable.”
Mercer laughed angrily.
“Right.”
Nathan stepped closer.
“I do not want special treatment.”
Mercer stared.
Nathan continued.
“I want the same investigation that should happen if Jordan’s father repaired air conditioners.”
Nobody spoke.
Nathan looked toward the witnesses.
“And I want their videos preserved.”
The woman beside the stroller nodded.
“I’ll send mine.”
The older man said:
“Me too.”
Jordan looked at his father.
Something about Nathan’s words surprised him.
He had expected anger.
Expected his father to destroy Mercer professionally with one phone call.
Part of Jordan wanted that.
A nineteen-year-old part.
The part that still felt grass against his cheek.
Nathan seemed to understand.
Later, in the SUV, Jordan finally asked.
“Why didn’t you arrest him?”
Nathan turned from the window.
“For what?”
“What do you mean, for what?”
“He attacked me.”
“That needs to be investigated.”
“You saw it.”
“I saw part.”
“Dad.”
Nathan remained calm.
Jordan exploded.
“He threw me down in a park because I was Black and wearing a hoodie.”
Nathan’s jaw tightened.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“We know what he did.”
“We don’t yet know why.”
Jordan stared.
“You’re defending him?”
“No.”
“It sounds like you are.”
“I’m separating action from motive.”