Then pointed toward an entry.
There it was.
A date.
A time.
And a badge number.
The same number assigned to the senior officer who had slapped the agent in Central Park.
For a moment, the room became silent.
The agent stared at the notebook.
Then looked up.
"What happened that day?"
The grandmother's face tightened.
"He told my grandson to stop filming people working on the building."
The agent nodded.
"Was he filming workers?"
"From a public area. He was taking pictures of the hallway and the trucks."
The grandmother paused.
"The officer said somebody complained he was interfering."
The agent looked toward her.
"Did your grandson interfere?"
"No."
Her voice became sharp.
"He was eleven years old."
The agent remained quiet.
The grandmother continued.
"The officer made him delete some pictures."
Her eyes filled.
"My grandson came upstairs crying."
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she added, "And the next week, the contractor said the repairs were finished."
The agent looked down at the notebook.
Another pattern.
A resident complained.
Someone documented unfinished work.
A police officer appeared.
Then the official records described the project as complete.
It still didn't establish every part of the suspected conspiracy.
But it was evidence requiring serious investigation.
The agent turned toward the grandmother.
"Would you be willing to provide these records through the proper process?"
The older woman nodded.
"That's why I kept them."
Then she looked closely at the agent's face.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
The grandmother hesitated.
"Did that officer know you were FBI when he hit you?"
The agent shook her head.
"No."
The older woman looked away.
Then whispered, "That's what scares me."
The agent waited.
The grandmother continued.
"He thought you were just a woman he could push around."
The words settled heavily between them.
She looked back toward the agent.
"And what about the people who don't have a badge in their purse?"
The agent felt her eyes fill.
She didn't answer immediately.
Because the question was the heart of the case.
The same badge that had transformed the officer's expression hadn't been visible when he raised his hand.
And the grandmother's grandson had no badge to protect him.
Neither did the maintenance worker.
Or the young tenant organizer.
Or the residents who simply wanted their homes repaired.
The agent reached across the table.
She placed one hand gently over the grandmother's.
"That's why we're investigating."
The older woman nodded.
Then wiped her eyes.
"Good."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the grandmother smiled faintly.
"And next time somebody tells you I complain too much, tell them I haven't even started."