Malik broke free from McVey's grip and ran after them. Where are you taking him? Please don't take my dad. David tried to turn around to offer some comfort, but Harlon shoved him forward. Eyes front, tough guy.
Keep walking. It's okay, Malik. David called over his shoulder, fighting to keep his voice steady. Stay calm, son. Everything's going to be okay.
Didn't I tell you to shut up? Harlon gave the cuffs another twist, making David wince. They pushed through the mall's main doors into the bright morning sunlight. The contrast was jarring. Outside, people were still arriving for a normal Saturday of shopping.
Unaware of the scene unfolding, a police cruiser sat waiting, its lights flashing silently. Behind them, Malik's desperate cries continued to echo off the mall's glass facade. Each sob felt like a physical blow to David's chest. He could hear McVey trying to calm his son down, but the officer's words were drowned out by the sound of car doors opening and the crackle of police radio traffic. In you go, big man," Harlon said, roughly shoving David's head down and pushing him into the back of the cruiser.
"Hope those fancy sneakers were worth it. " The door slammed shut, muffling the sounds from outside. Through the window, David could see Malik standing at the mall entrance, his small body shaking with sobs as McVey awkwardly patted his shoulder. Shoppers clustered around, phones raised high to capture every moment of the humiliation. As the cruiser pulled away, David caught a final glimpse of his son's devastated face. The image burned itself into his memory, his boy alone and frightened, watching his father being taken away in handcuffs.
The morning's joy had shattered into something ugly and all too familiar. Another Black child learning too early about the world's cruel realities. The police cruiser's back seat felt like ice against David's gray sweatshirt. His cheek throbbed where it had scraped the mall's floor, and the metal handcuffs dug into his wrists with every bump in the road. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the knot in his stomach.
His son's terrified screams still echoed in his ears. Where are you taking my son? David's voice was steady despite his racing heart. Who's responsible for him right now? Harlon's laugh cut through the patrol car.
Now you're worried about the kid. Should have thought about that before trying to pass fake bills. My son needs to know he's safe, David insisted, leaning forward slightly. He's only 10. At least tell me who's watching him.
McVey, driving the cruiser, glanced in the rearview mirror. Mall security will handle it. Maybe they'll call social services. The casual dismissal in McVey's tone made David's jaw clench. He could picture Malik alone, surrounded by strangers, probably still crying.
The image threatened to crack his composure, but years of training kicked in automatically. Breathe. Focus. Control. The words echoed in his mind, taking him back to his early days of federal training.
He could almost hear his instructor's voice. Your emotions are a weapon. Either you control them or they'll be used against you. Harlon twisted in the passenger seat, his face twisted in a smirk. What's wrong, Big Shot?
Not so tough now, are you? Bet you thought you were real smart trying to scam honest businesses. David met his gaze steadily, memorizing every detail of Harlon's face, the slight crook in his nose, the small scar above his right eyebrow, the way his upper lip curled when he spoke. Everything about this man would be documented, remembered, recorded. "The $100 bill is legitimate," David said calmly.
"A simple verification would prove that. " "Sure it is," McVey chimed in. His earlier silence forgotten. Just like the last guys was legitimate, and the one before that. You people always have excuses. You people, David repeated quietly, noting McVey's badge number reflected in the rearview mirror.
You heard me, McVey said, but his voice wavered slightly at David's tone. The cruiser turned onto a side street, and David's training kicked in again. He was mapping their route, noting street names and landmarks. It was automatic now after years of security work. Always know where you are.
Always have an exit strategy. But this time, the familiar routine had a different purpose. Every turn, every stop sign, every moment of this journey would be evidence. Think you're something special, don't you? Harlon continued his taunting.
Wearing that nice suit, acting all proper. But we know what you are. Just another piece of street trash trying to play businessman. David closed his eyes briefly, remembering another training session. When they show their true faces, his instructor had said, "Let them.
Every word they speak is a rope they're hanging themselves with. " The car hit a pothole, making David wince as the cuffs cut deeper. He could feel warm trickles of blood where the metal had broken skin. "More evidence, more documentation for later. " "Nothing to say now," Harlon pressed, clearly annoyed by David's silence. "Lost that attitude from the mall real quick, didn't you? " "I have plenty to say," David replied evenly. "I'm just waiting for the right audience. " Something in his tone made both officers glance at each other, but before they could respond, the cruiser turned into the police station parking lot.
A small crowd of uniformed officers had gathered outside, apparently alerted to their arrival. "Look what we caught, boys! " Harlon called out as McVey parked. Mall rat trying to pass funny money. The waiting officers crowded around the car as McVey opened David's door. Rough hands grabbed his arms, pulling him out with unnecessary force.
His feet barely touched the ground before they were pushing him forward. "Nice suit," one officer sneered. "Which store did you steal that from? " Probably bought it with more fake bills, another added, drawing laughs from his colleagues. David kept his head high as they marched him toward the station entrance. Each face, each badge number, each name tag.
He absorbed them all. The years he'd spent analyzing security threats and identifying patterns now served a different purpose. These men thought they were displaying power, but they were really just documenting their own corruption. "Watch your head," Harlon said, then deliberately pushed David into the doorframe. More laughter erupted from the group.
Inside, the station buzzed with activity. Desk sergeants looked up from their paperwork. Other officers paused their conversations to stare. David noted how some quickly looked away, uncomfortable with what they were seeing. "Those faces were important, too.
The ones who knew better but chose to stay silent. " "Got a real smooth operator here," Harlon announced to the room. Think you'll be comfortable in our accommodations, suitman? David remained silent as they pushed him toward processing. His mind was already racing ahead, mapping out what would happen next. They would take his fingerprints, his photo, search his pockets, and then they would find his ID.
He almost smiled, thinking about that moment to come. But for now, he let them push and prod. Let them think they had power over him. Let them dig their hole deeper with every snide comment and rough hand. Because David knew something they didn't.
This wasn't just an arrest anymore. This was evidence collection, and he was gathering every bit of it. The holding area reeked of stale sweat and cheap disinfectant. David sat on a hard metal bench, his wrists still raw from the handcuffs they'd finally removed. Around him, officers lounged against walls and desks, their postures relaxed as they traded jokes at his expense.
"Did you see how fast he hit the floor? " Harlon laughed, mimicking David's fall at the mall. All that fancy clothing, face down like common trash. McVey joined in, his earlier hesitation forgotten. The kids crying was the best part. Maybe next time, daddy will think twice about passing fake bills.
David's fingers curled into fists at the mention of Malik, but he kept his face neutral. The mention of his son sent another wave of worry through him. He still had no idea where Malik was or who was caring for him. "I need to make my phone call," David said, his voice cutting through their laughter. "It's my right. " "Rights? " An officer David hadn't seen before stepped forward, his nameplate reading Peterson.
You got some nerve talking about rights after trying to scam honest businesses. The law requires you to allow me one phone call, David repeated firmly. Peterson walked over deliberately dragging his feet. He stopped directly in front of David and spat on his polished shoes. Oops, he said with a smirk.
Yes, I slipped. The other officers roared with laughter. David looked down at the glob of saliva on his leather shoe, then back up at Peterson's face. "Another detail for the record. Another face to remember. " "Real tough guy," Harlon called out.
"Bet he won't be talking so proper after a night in the cells. " David straightened his back, his voice remaining steady. "Before we continue this entertainment, I'd like my wallet returned. " Oh, you would, would you? Harlon mocked, adopting an exaggerated formal tone. And would, sir, like his counterfeit money returned as well. The wallet, David insisted.
Check it. Something in his tone made McVey pause. He glanced at the evidence bag containing David's belongings, then shrugged and picked it up. Might as well see what other fake stuff he's carrying. The officer dumped the contents onto a nearby desk.
David's leather wallet landed with a soft thud, spilling open. A small identification card slipped out, landing face up under the harsh fluorescent lights. McVey leaned in to read it. His face went slack. "What's wrong? " Peterson asked, still grinning.
"Found more funny money? " But McVey had stumbled backward, his face draining of color. Harlon stepped forward, snatching up the ID card. His smirk froze, then melted away like ice in summer heat. Department of Homeland Security, Harlon read aloud, his voice barely a whisper. Director David Harrington.