Ava's voice was sharp, focused. "I just watched the footage. I'm taking your case. Where are you now?" "Children's hospital.
They're discharging Nyla this morning." "Stay there. I'm coming to you. We need to file preservation notices before anything conveniently disappears." Within an hour, Ava strode into Nyla's hospital room, her heels clicking purposefully on the linoleum.
She carried a leather briefcase and the air of someone who never lost a fight she chose to take on. "How she doing?" Ava asked, nodding toward Nyla, who was coloring quietly in bed. "Physically?" "The bites were shallow.
Mentally?" Maya shook her head. "She keeps asking what she did wrong." "She did nothing wrong," Ava said firmly, pulling out her laptop. "And we're going to prove it.
I've already drafted preservation notices for the department. They'll have to maintain all K9 training logs, radio dispatches, body cam footage, everything." They spent the next hour going over details. Ava's questions were precise, methodical. She documented every bruise, every torn piece of clothing, every moment of the encounter.
A television mounted in the corner suddenly caught their attention. Chief Earl Kessler was holding a press conference outside the police station. "Yesterday's incident was a regrettable misunderstanding," Kessler said, his face a mask of practiced concern. "Officer Branson has been placed on administrative leave with pay pending a full investigation. Our department takes any use of force involving minors very seriously."
"Misunderstanding?" Maya's voice was tight. "He sicked a dog on my 7-year-old." "Notice he's not denying the attack happened," Ava observed. "He's just trying to control the narrative.
Classic damage control." A knock at the door interrupted them. Sergeant Chew entered, her expression guarded. "Maya," she said quietly. "I need to warn you.
Someone's been asking questions about your military file. They're digging." "Who?" "Can't say for sure. But the requests came from inside the department."
Ava made a note. "Attempting to discredit a witness. Add it to the list." Maya helped Nyla pack her things and they headed home. The house felt different somehow, less safe, less private.
She double-checked the locks, drew the curtains, and tried to restore some normalcy for Nyla's sake. They were eating dinner when the knock came. Through the peephole, Maya saw a woman in business casual holding a clipboard. The ID badge read Child Protective Services. Maya's heart raced, but her voice remained steady.
"Nyla, honey, go to your room for a minute." She opened the door, standing tall in the frame. The CPS agent smiled professionally. "Ms. Allison? I'm Sandra Wheeler from Child Protective Services.
We received an anonymous tip about potential instability in the home. May I come in?" Maya smiled back, stepping aside. "Of course. Please, enter."
She pulled out her phone and dialed Ava, putting it on speaker. "I hope you don't mind if my attorney joins us." "Hello, Ms. Wheeler," Ava's voice came through clearly. "This is Ava Mercado. I'll be recording this interaction as is my client's legal right.
Please proceed with your inspection." The CPS agent's smile faltered slightly, but she began her walk-through. The house was immaculate. Dishes done, floors swept, laundry folded. Nyla's room was bright and organized, her schoolwork displayed proudly on the walls.
The refrigerator bore her latest artwork, careful crayon drawings of birds she'd seen on her walks home. "Everything appears to be in order," Wheeler said finally, unable to hide her embarrassment. "I apologize for any inconvenience." After she left, Ava was still on the line. "They're trying to discredit you, Maya.
Which means they're scared." Maya looked at Nyla's closed bedroom door, thinking of her daughter's drawings, her curious mind, her gentle heart. "Then they just woke the wrong mother." The evening settled over Maya's living room like a heavy blanket, the warm glow of table lamps creating intimate pools of light. Maya sat in her favorite armchair, surrounded by allies who had gathered to help plan their next moves.
Ava Mercado claimed the dining room chair she'd pulled over, her laptop open and legal papers spread across the coffee table. Pastor Greer's tall frame occupied the far end of the couch, his presence steady and reassuring. Sergeant Chew perched alertly on a kitchen stool she'd brought in, while Mrs. Patel sat primly on the edge of the sofa, still clutching her phone with its precious video evidence. "First things first," Ava said, tapping her pen against a legal pad. "We need to file the official complaint tomorrow morning.
I've drafted it already, but I want to make sure we include every detail." She looked at Maya. "The more specific we are, the harder it is for them to wiggle out of this." Maya nodded, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "What about the press?
They've been calling non-stop." "We control the narrative," Ava replied firmly. "No individual interviews yet. We release one clear statement through my office, focusing on the facts. An unarmed 7-year-old girl walking home on public land attacked by a police K9 without provocation.
Let the video speak for itself." Pastor Greer leaned forward, his deep voice carrying years of community leadership. "I can host a meeting at the church tomorrow evening. Get the neighborhood involved, but keep it organized. No shouting, no violence, just concerned citizens demanding accountability."
"The congregation mothers will come," Mrs. Patel added, her accent lending weight to her words. "They remember their own children walking that path. And I have more footage from my camera showing other kids using that shortcut. Years of them, peaceful as birds." Sergeant Chew cleared her throat.
"There's something else you should know." She pulled out a folder from her messenger bag. "I did some digging into Branson's K9 certification records. His credentials expired 3 months ago. He's been operating Thor without valid certification."
The room went silent as the implications sank in. "That's a felony," Ava said, her eyes sharpening. "Using an uncertified K9 is considered deadly force without proper training. The liability alone." She started typing furiously.
A soft knock at the front door made everyone tense. Maya rose to answer it, checking through the peephole first. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as she opened the door to reveal Councilwoman Ruth Hale, her silver hair neat despite the late hour. "I hope I'm not interrupting," Ruth said, stepping inside. "I heard there was a strategy meeting."
"Councilwoman," Pastor Greer stood respectfully. "Your presence means a lot." Ruth settled into an offered chair, her movements deliberate. "This isn't my first rodeo with police overreach. I was younger than Nyla during the civil rights movement.
Some things haven't changed as much as we'd hoped." "The public's already rallying," Mrs. Patel said, showing her phone screen. "Look at Twitter. Our #justicefornyla is trending in our area. My granddaughter showed me how to check."
Maya watched the growing activity on the hashtag, seeing neighbors, parents, and local activists sharing the story. The doorbell camera footage had been viewed thousands of times. "We need to move fast," Ava said, still typing. "I'm filing motions for evidence preservation first thing tomorrow. Body cam footage, radio logs, K9 training records, internal emails, everything."
"The department will fight it," Chew warned. They always do. Let them, Ava replied. Every attempt to block us is another piece of evidence showing consciousness of guilt. Pastor Greer pulled out his own notebook.
I'll start calling church members tonight. We can have people ready to attend the council meeting next week. Peaceful pressure from taxpayers tends to make politicians nervous. Speaking of which, Ruth added. I've been talking to other council members.