Maya froze on the courthouse steps, the wind pulling through her hair. Her heartbeat slowed as if preparing itself for what she knew would come. A figure stood far away, just beyond the crowd, then slipped out of sight behind the line of cars.
On the morning Holston learned that the four most powerful figures in the city were being prosecuted, the sky seemed brighter, yet no one dared breathe in relief. On the courthouse steps, the line of people stretched even longer than the day before. They crowded together beneath the cold wind, holding signs that read, "Justice for Brooks," eyes fixed on the doors where layers of authority would be stripped away today.
Maya moved through the crowd, feeling the air tighten like a drawn string. Royce walked beside her, his eyes sharpening when he saw the media turning their lenses toward the police officers escorting the defendants.
Inside the courtroom, the prosecutor rose, his hand resting on an indictment thick enough that the edges of the pages had frayed. He read each charge in a voice not slow, but heavy, each word slicing another layer of Bravo Unit's power away: assault resulting in death, concealment of evidence, coercion to silence witnesses, extortion. Each accusation sent ripples through the room: some people gripped their seat edges, others lowered their heads, a few cried, for they had waited too long to hear their city finally name the truth.
Lang was called first. He stepped out in a wrinkled suit, his face pale as he listened to the line item reading, "Corrupt collaboration with law enforcement."
When the prosecutor asked, "Did you accept money from the Bravo Unit to overlook complaint reports?" Lang stammered, his voice cracking apart: "I... I only reviewed what was submitted."
The stare from every corner of the room cut straight through his excuse. No one believed him; no one wanted to believe him anymore.
Kellen was brought in next, hands cuffed. He still tried to hold himself up with a furious, shouting voice: "That whole market was against me! I was just doing my job!"
His outburst poured gasoline on the anger simmering in the hallway. A woman stood abruptly, shouting, "Doing your job? That's what you call beating a vendor?!" Security moved to calm her, but no one blamed her. No one blamed anyone who had endured Bravo Unit for so many years.