“Walk.” Nia winced. “I’m trying.”
Hollis followed them inside. The desk sergeant barely looked up from his computer. He saw three officers escorting a bloodied Black teenager and seemed more annoyed by the paperwork than alarmed by the injuries.
“Processing Two,” Pryce said. They pushed Nia down a hallway.
The room smelled like old coffee and disinfectant. One camera blinked from the ceiling corner. A plastic chair sat against the wall.
Colter shoved her into it. The handcuffs caught painfully against the chair back. Nia squeezed her eyes shut.
Pryce leaned against the opposite wall. “Here’s what happened.” He spoke as though dictating something already decided.
“You became aggressive during a lawful stop.” Another sentence. “You struck Officer Colter.”
Nia looked up. “I never touched him.” Pryce continued.
“You resisted arrest.” Hollis smirked. “And assaulted three officers.”
“That’s a lie.” Her voice sounded broken but steady. “Everyone saw.”
Colter laughed. “Phone videos are funny things.” He glanced toward Hollis. “Sometimes they disappear.”
Nia stared at them. Pryce pulled off one glove.
“Body cameras have technical problems too.” He smiled. “Unfortunate.”
Fear moved differently through Nia now. Outside, the beating had been physical and immediate. In this room, she understood they were preparing to rewrite reality.
“I want to call my father.” Pryce gave her a mocking look.
“This isn’t television.” Nia kept staring at him.
“I’m a minor.” She swallowed painfully. “I want a parent.”
Hollis stepped closer. “You’re facing serious charges.” He began counting them. “Assaulting officers, resisting, disturbing the peace.”
“I want my phone call.” Pryce rubbed one hand across his jaw.
“You really like telling people what you want.” Nia said nothing.
Colter shrugged. “Let her call mommy.” Pryce took Nia’s phone from an evidence bag.
“One call.” He held it just beyond her reach. “And then you start cooperating.”
Nia’s hands remained cuffed behind her. Pryce finally held the phone near her face while she gave him the unlock code. Her fingers could not reach the screen, so she dictated her father’s number.
The call rang twice. Then Daniel Carter answered.
“Nia?” His voice was warm but distracted. “Where are you? Your mother said you should’ve been home twenty minutes ago.”
“Dad.” The word broke before she could stop it.
Silence came from the other end. Daniel’s tone changed instantly. “What happened?”
“I’m at the Redmont police station.” Tears finally ran freely. “They hurt me.”
Pryce’s smile disappeared slightly. Daniel’s voice became very calm.
“How badly?” Nia looked down at herself.
“My ribs hurt.” She struggled to breathe evenly. “My face is bleeding, and they hit me with a baton.”
Daniel inhaled once. “Who?”
“Sergeant Pryce.” She looked toward him. “Officer Colter and Officer Hollis.”
All three men were listening now. Daniel asked another question. “Were there witnesses?”
“Yes.” Nia nodded even though he could not see her. “A lot.”
“Any video?” “Everybody was recording.”
She hesitated. “Mine too, I think.”
Daniel’s voice became colder. “Do not sign anything.”
“Okay.” Nia cried quietly. “Dad, I’m scared.”
“I know, baby.” She heard a door opening somewhere on his end. “Listen to me.”
Papers moved. Another voice asked him something in the background. Daniel cut them off.
“You stay where you are.” He spoke slowly. “You say nothing without counsel present.”
Nia nodded. “Okay.”
“I’m coming.” Pryce snatched the phone away.
“Time’s up.” He ended the call. “Daddy coming to save you?”
Nia looked at him. She did not answer.
Colter grinned. “Who is he, some lawyer?” Hollis cracked his knuckles.
“Maybe a school principal.” Pryce laughed. “Maybe preacher.”
Nia looked toward the ceiling camera. “You should probably stop talking.”
Pryce leaned down until his face was near hers. “You still don’t understand where you are.”
Nia met his eyes. “No.” She swallowed. “You don’t.”
Twenty-six minutes later, the front doors of the Federal Bureau of Investigation headquarters in Washington opened for an executive security team already moving toward the underground garage. Daniel Carter had served as FBI Director for three years after spending most of his career investigating public corruption, organized crime, and civil-rights violations. Few people outside senior federal law enforcement knew his family kept a second home in Redmont, where his wife had grown up and where Nia attended school for part of the year.
He was supposed to remain in Washington that evening. After Nia’s call, that plan disappeared. Daniel stood inside his office issuing instructions with the controlled fury of someone forcing himself not to confuse fatherhood with lawful authority.
“I want preservation notices immediately.” He looked toward Deputy Director Elaine Porter. “Dispatch, body cameras, booking-room surveillance, station access logs, everything.”
Elaine nodded. “Civil Rights Division?”
“Notify them.” Daniel grabbed his jacket. “And contact the U.S. Attorney.”
Agent Sofia Reyes entered carrying a tablet. “Sir, video is already online.” Daniel looked at the screen.
The first clip showed Nia standing with both hands raised. Another showed Pryce sweeping her knees. A third captured the baton landing.
Daniel’s hand tightened around the tablet. Sofia watched him carefully.
“We have dozens.” She swiped. “Different angles.”
Daniel handed the tablet back. “Archive originals before anybody starts compressing or editing them.”
He called his wife, Monica Carter, next. She was already on the road toward Redmont after a neighbor contacted her. Daniel told her to go directly to the hospital once Nia was released.
“Released?” Monica repeated. “Daniel, they beat our child.”
“I know.” He closed his eyes. “I’m getting her out.”
Back at Redmont station, Pryce was finishing his report. The language came easily. Subject became combative. Subject struck officers. Subject was taken to ground after active resistance.
Colter wrote a supporting narrative. Hollis added that the crowd became hostile and threatened police. None of them mentioned Henry Bell being shoved.
The desk sergeant received a call. He listened for less than thirty seconds before standing so abruptly his chair rolled backward. “Sergeant Pryce.”
Pryce looked up. “What?”
“Chief wants you in his office.” Pryce frowned.
“Why?” The sergeant’s face had changed. “Now.”
Redmont Police Chief Calvin Harlan stood behind his desk when the three officers entered. At sixty, Harlan had spent three decades building influence across city hall, the county sheriff’s office, and state politics. He had protected officers before.
He had never protected officers from the FBI Director. “Who is the girl?” he asked.
Pryce shrugged. “Local teenager.” Harlan slammed one palm against the desk.
“Her father is Daniel Carter.” Silence.
Colter frowned. “Who?”
“The Director of the FBI.” Harlan’s face was pale.