He flipped the latch.
Marcus said, “I do not consent to a search of privileged personnel material.”
Caldwell smiled.
“Privileged.”
“Yes.”
“Listen to this guy.”
He lifted the briefcase.
Then dumped it.
Folders hit the floor.
A sealed envelope slid beneath the counter.
A framed photograph landed faceup near Marcus’s shoe.
Isaiah and Marcus’s late wife, Patrice, smiling beside him at a beach two years before her diagnosis.
Something inside Marcus tightened.
Caldwell looked down.
“Cute.”
Marcus finally turned his head enough to meet the sergeant’s eyes.
“Don’t.”
One word.
Caldwell’s smile faded.
The station radio crackled.
Nobody paid attention at first.
Then the dispatcher’s chair rolled backward sharply.
Her name was Laura Benton.
Marcus knew that from the roster.
She stared at her computer.
The screen had refreshed with the morning command bulletin.
A personnel photograph appeared.
Marcus in dress uniform.
Same face.
Same stars.
Same badge.
The dispatch speaker clicked again.
“Riverside Headquarters, confirming scheduled arrival of newly appointed Chief Marcus Reed. Arrival time eight-five-zero hours. Command staff report to conference room at zero-nine-hundred.”
The room stopped.
Not gradually.
Completely.
Caldwell’s hand lifted from Marcus’s neck.
Officer Porter looked toward the screen.
Then toward Marcus.
The dispatcher’s mouth opened.
“No.”
Nobody moved.
The radio repeated.
“Confirming Chief Reed on site.”
Laura Benton stood.
Her chair rolled into the wall behind her.
“Oh God.”
Marcus remained bent against the desk.
Handcuffed.
Documents scattered around his shoes.
The woman in the waiting area covered her mouth.
Caldwell took one step backward.
Then another.
His face lost color.
Officer Porter whispered, “Sergeant…”
Caldwell looked at Marcus.
For the first time, Marcus saw fear.
Not remorse.
Not yet.
Fear of consequence.
There was a difference.
Marcus slowly raised his head.
The cuff chain clicked behind him.
His cheek burned where it had been pressed into the counter.
Caldwell reached instinctively toward the handcuff key on his belt.
Marcus spoke.
“No.”
The sergeant froze.
Marcus straightened as much as the cuffs allowed.
“Do not touch them.”
“Chief, I—”
“I said don’t touch them.”
His voice never rose.
That made everyone listen harder.
Caldwell’s hand dropped.
Marcus turned toward the nearest ceiling camera.
A small black dome above the lobby.
Then he looked at the dispatcher.
“Ms. Benton.”
She swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
“Is lobby camera one active?”
She glanced toward the screen.
“Yes.”
“Lobby camera two?”
“Yes.”
“Booking-counter camera?”
“Yes.”
Marcus nodded.
“Good.”
Caldwell stared.
Marcus looked directly at him.
“Internal Affairs has been mirroring those feeds since eight-thirty.”
The sergeant’s face changed again.