Alina Brooks: "Take your hand off me."
Her voice was calm.
But there was no uncertainty in it.
Ryan held her for another second.
Then he released her with a dismissive movement.
Ryan Mitchell: "You need to learn how to speak to officers."
Alina Brooks: "And you need to learn when you have no authority to touch someone."
Ryan raised the credential wallet.
Ryan Mitchell: "You want this?"
Alina Brooks: "Return it."
Ryan turned the wallet toward the other officers.
Ryan Mitchell: "Look at this. She thinks she's some kind of federal supervisor."
No one responded.
Ryan flipped the wallet open.
He examined the official badge and photograph, then held it beside his own police identification.
Ryan Mitchell: "What's the difference? We all carry badges."
Alina Brooks: "The difference is the agency and the authority attached to the credentials. Both can be verified."
Ryan Mitchell: "I don't need a lesson."
Alina Brooks: "Then stop creating a situation that requires one."
His face tightened.
He looked around.
Two officers were watching.
Ethan was standing beside his desk.
A civilian employee near the printer had stopped sorting papers.
Ryan seemed increasingly aware that the room was observing him.
Instead of ending the confrontation, he decided to turn it into a performance.
Ryan Mitchell: "You know what? I'm tired of people walking into this building and acting like they own it."
Alina Brooks: "Nobody is asking to own your building."
Ryan Mitchell: "You think that little federal badge makes you untouchable?"
Alina Brooks: "No."
She looked at his hand.
Alina Brooks: "But it should remind you that your actions are subject to the law."
Ryan gave a short laugh.
Then he looked toward the trash can beside his workstation.
Ryan Mitchell: "Maybe you should keep your badge somewhere safe."
Before Alina could respond, he threw the credential wallet into the container.
It struck the bottom.
The photograph was visible through the open leather flap.
The room fell silent.
Ryan looked at her with a satisfied expression.
Ryan Mitchell: "There. Now we can talk like normal people."
Alina stared at the wallet.
She had spent years learning how to control her reactions during confrontations.
She understood that an angry response could distract from the evidence.
She also understood that the incident had now become more serious than an officer refusing to cooperate with an inspection.
He had taken official federal identification.
He had physically grabbed her.
He had discarded the credentials in front of multiple witnesses.
And he had done it while an authorized inspection was underway.
Alina slowly reached into her blazer and removed her phone.
Ryan watched her.
Ryan Mitchell: "Who are you calling? Your mother?"
Alina ignored the comment.
She opened the federal operations contact.
Alina Brooks: "Control, this is Special Agent Brooks."
A brief response came through the speaker.
Alina Brooks: "I need you to verify my registered inspection location."
She waited.
Alina Brooks: "Confirmed. Eastbridge Police Department, central operations floor."
Ryan's smile began to fade.
Alina Brooks: "I am reporting interference with an authorized federal inspection. My identification has been seized and discarded by a uniformed officer. The officer has also made unwanted physical contact with me."
Ethan looked toward the trash can.
Ryan lowered his arms.
Alina Brooks: "Please notify the regional supervisor. I want all security footage preserved, all evidence access logs secured, and the original inventory records protected from modification."
Ryan Mitchell: "You're making a huge mistake."
Alina did not look at him.
Alina Brooks: "There is also a possible attempt to obstruct access to federally covered evidence records."
The person on the other end asked a question.
Alina Brooks: "Yes. I am still inside the building."
She ended the call.
The silence became uncomfortable.
Ryan took a small step backward.
For the first time, he appeared to understand that the incident might not disappear when the shift ended.
But before anyone could speak, the door to the administrative corridor opened.
A senior officer walked into the operations room.
He was a tall man in his early sixties, with silver hair and a stern expression.
His name was Captain Harold Whitaker.
He had served in the department for more than thirty years and was responsible for overseeing several administrative units.
Captain Whitaker: "What's going on?"
Ryan immediately turned toward him.
Ryan Mitchell: "Captain, we have an unauthorized visitor."