He had also seen people misuse authority because they believed the uniform made them untouchable.
Briggs reminded him of the worst of them.
Marcus looked directly into his eyes.
“Move.”
The word was quiet, but it carried a firmness that made the people nearby fall silent.
Briggs took it as a challenge.
“You don't belong here!”
Marcus's expression changed.
Not dramatically. He did not shout or raise his hands. But the calmness in his face became something colder.
“Say that again.”
Briggs stepped closer.
“You heard me. You don't belong here.”
Marcus looked at the badge on the officer's chest.
Then he looked at the nameplate.
BRIGGS.
He committed the name to memory.
“I'm going inside,” Marcus said. “If you believe I've violated a rule, tell me which one. Otherwise, get out of my way.”
Briggs's face reddened.
“Don't you dare give me orders.”
“I haven't given you an order.”
“You think you're better than me?”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like it.”
Marcus turned slightly toward the entrance.
That was when Briggs grabbed his collar.
The officer seized the front of Marcus's jacket and shoved him backward. Marcus stumbled one step before his shoulder struck the stone wall beside the doors.
The impact knocked the breath from his chest.
A woman gasped.
“Hey! Stop that!”
Briggs ignored her.
He pressed Marcus against the wall and leaned close enough for Marcus to smell the coffee on his own clothes.
“You move when I say so!”
Marcus caught the officer's wrist.
“Get your hands off me.”
Briggs tightened his grip.
“Or what?”
Marcus's eyes moved briefly toward the cameras mounted above the entrance. One camera pointed directly at the steps. Another covered the walkway leading from the parking area. A third was installed over the reception doors.
He knew the system well.
He had approved the replacement of the old exterior cameras the previous year after a security review found several blind spots. The new system recorded continuously, preserved timestamps, and transmitted footage to a secured server.
Briggs was standing beneath one of those cameras.
Every second was being recorded.
“Let go,” Marcus repeated.
Briggs pulled him away from the wall, then shoved him back against it.
“You people always want to argue.”
The words came out before Briggs seemed to consider them.
Marcus went still.
The woman in the gray coat had stopped recording her phone conversation. She now held the device in both hands, its camera pointed toward the men.
A delivery driver had taken two steps closer.
“Officer, that's enough,” the driver called.
Briggs turned his head.
“Stay out of this!”
Then he looked back at Marcus.
“You got something to say?”
Marcus's voice was low.
“Yes. You're making a serious mistake.”
Briggs laughed again.
“Really? You going to report me?”
“Yes.”
“To who?”
Marcus looked at the badge on Briggs's chest.
“To whoever is responsible for reviewing your conduct.”
Briggs's expression hardened.
“You think anyone's going to believe you over me?”
Marcus did not answer.
That silence seemed to infuriate the officer more than an argument would have.
Briggs released Marcus's collar and stepped back, raising his right hand.
“Maybe I need to teach you how to speak to the police.”
He swung.
The movement was fast, but Marcus had been watching his shoulders.
Marcus shifted his head to the side and caught Briggs's wrist before the blow landed cleanly. The officer's hand brushed Marcus's cheek. Marcus turned his body, broke the grip, and pushed Briggs away from him.
Briggs stumbled.
For half a second, they stood apart.
Then Briggs lunged forward again.
Marcus reacted.
His fist struck Briggs across the face.
The punch was powerful enough to send the officer stumbling backward. Briggs lost his footing on the edge of the pavement and crashed onto his side. His shoulder hit first, followed by his hip and the back of his head.
The sound of the impact cut through the plaza.
Several people shouted at once.
Marcus remained where he was, breathing hard.
His right hand throbbed. His face burned from the coffee. His jacket clung to his chest.
Briggs lay on the pavement for a moment, stunned.
Then he rolled onto his knees and touched his mouth.
When he saw blood on his fingers, his expression transformed.
He looked up at Marcus.
“You hit me!”
Marcus did not move toward him.
“You swung at me.”
“You assaulted a police officer!”
“You grabbed me and tried to punch me.”
Briggs scrambled to his feet.
“ARREST HIM!”
His voice cracked across the entrance plaza.
“ARREST HIM! HE HIT A COP!”
A pair of officers appeared behind the glass doors.
One was a young patrol officer named Elena Torres. The other was Sergeant David Collins, a broad-shouldered veteran who had served in the department for seventeen years.
They had heard the shouting from the lobby.
Collins pushed through the doors first.
“What's going on?”
Briggs pointed at Marcus.
“That's him! He attacked me! He just punched me in the face!”
Torres moved toward Marcus, her hand hovering near her duty belt.
“Sir, step away from the officer.”
Marcus raised both hands.
“I'm not moving toward anyone.”
Briggs wiped blood from his mouth.
“He attacked me for no reason! I was trying to control the situation, and he punched me!”
Collins looked from Briggs to Marcus.
His eyes stopped on Marcus's face.
For a moment, he seemed unable to process what he was seeing.
Then his shoulders straightened.
His expression changed so completely that Torres noticed immediately.
“Sergeant?” she asked.
Collins did not answer her.
He took one measured step forward.
“Commander Reed?”
Marcus gave him a small nod.
“Sergeant Collins.”
Collins's face tightened.
“Sir, are you injured?”
“Coffee in my eyes. My shoulder hurts a little.”
Collins looked at Marcus's soaked uniform-style jacket, then at the blood on Briggs's face.
“What happened?”
Before Marcus could answer, Briggs stepped between them.
“Sergeant, I need you to take this man into custody. He assaulted me. I want him restrained immediately.”
Collins turned toward him.
“Officer Briggs, stand back.”
Briggs blinked.
“What?”
“I said stand back.”
“Sergeant, he hit me!”
“I heard you.”
“Then arrest him!”
Collins's voice dropped.
“Do you know who you're speaking to?”
Briggs gave a bitter laugh.
“I don't care who he is. Nobody gets to hit a police officer.”