"Out."
He stepped into the hallway.
Hayes remained.
Brooks pointed at him.
"You too."
Hayes left.
Isaiah rubbed his wrists.
The administrative officer stood nearby with tears beginning to form in her eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Commander."
Isaiah looked at her.
"What's your name?"
"Linda Perez."
"Ms. Perez, I want the processing-room camera preserved immediately."
She nodded.
"Yes, sir."
"And the lobby cameras."
"Yes."
"And every report generated between 7:45 and now."
She nodded again.
"I'll do it."
Isaiah looked at Captain Brooks.
"Before anyone changes a word."
Brooks understood.
"Understood."
He looked at the officers gathered in the hallway.
Nobody spoke.
Isaiah walked toward the elevator.
Then he stopped.
He turned around.
"I want Sullivan and Hayes separated."
Brooks nodded.
"They will be."
"I want their weapons secured pending review."
"Yes."
"And I want the civilian witnesses in the lobby identified."
Brooks hesitated.
"Why?"
"Because they saw what happened."
She nodded.
"Of course."
Isaiah entered the elevator.
The doors closed.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then the elevator began climbing.
At 9:12 A.M., Isaiah Carter entered the briefing room.
Every officer stood.
Nobody knew where to look.
Some stared at the floor.
Others stared at him.
One officer who had been laughing five minutes earlier suddenly looked as though he might be sick.
Isaiah walked to the podium.
He did not smile.
He did not mention the blood on his lip.
He did not mention the handcuffs.
He simply looked at the room.
"My name is Isaiah Carter."
Nobody moved.
"I believe most of you already know that."
A few people shifted uncomfortably.
"I was scheduled to introduce myself to you this morning."
He paused.
"Instead, two members of this precinct introduced themselves to me."
Silence.
Isaiah placed both hands on the podium.
"Not through professionalism."
"Not through respect."
"Through violence and false accusations."
No one looked up.
He continued.
"I want to make something very clear."
His voice remained controlled.
"I did not come here looking for a scandal."
"I came here looking for the truth."
He glanced across the room.
"And what happened downstairs gave me more information in forty minutes than a month of official reports could have given me."
A senior detective raised his eyes.
Isaiah saw it.
Fear.
Not fear of him.
Fear of what he might discover.
That mattered.
He continued.
"Some of you may be wondering whether this means every officer in this precinct is under investigation."
He paused.
"No."
A breath moved through the room.
"But anyone who participated in misconduct, concealed it, witnessed it and chose to lie about it, or altered records to protect it should assume that their conduct will be examined."
He looked toward the back.
"That includes supervisors."
Then he turned toward Captain Brooks.
"Captain, I want the internal review team assembled."
"Yes, Commander."
"I want the lobby footage preserved before the end of this hour."
"Yes."
"The processing-room footage."
"Yes."
"All dispatch logs."
"Yes."
"All complaint records from the last twelve months."
The room became tense.
Isaiah continued.
"And I want every civilian complaint that was closed without documented follow-up reviewed independently."
A few officers exchanged glances.
Isaiah noticed.
"That reaction tells me that request was necessary."
No one answered.
He looked at his watch.
9:17.
"Now I want to talk about something else."
He stepped away from the podium.
"Most of you think the problem this morning was Officer Sullivan."
He shook his head.
"He's a problem."
"But he is not the entire problem."
Isaiah looked around the room.
"The real question is why Officer Sullivan believed he could slap a civilian in the lobby, invent charges, place him in handcuffs, and behave as though nobody would stop him."
Silence.
"That's the question I intend to answer."
Sullivan sat alone in an administrative office.
His weapon had been removed.
His badge had not yet been taken, but he had been instructed not to leave the building.
His hands shook slightly.
Hayes sat in the hallway outside.
Neither man spoke.
Finally, Hayes looked at him.
"What are we going to do?"
Sullivan stared at the floor.
"I don't know."
"You knew he was the commander?"
"No."
"Neither did I."
"That's not the point."
Hayes looked at him.
"Then what is?"
Sullivan raised his head.
"The point is that we did it before we knew."
Hayes swallowed.
"Maybe that helps."
Sullivan laughed.
"No."
He looked toward the ceiling.
"It makes it worse."
At 9:45, Isaiah sat in his new office.
It had not yet been personalized.
There were no photographs.
No books.
No decorations.
Only a desk, two chairs, a filing cabinet, and a window overlooking the street.
Captain Brooks stood across from him.
"How do you want to proceed?"
"First, I want the original footage secured."
"It is."
"Who controls access?"
"IT supervisor and records administrator."
"Change the access protocol."
Brooks nodded.
"Anything else?"
"Yes."
He opened a folder.
"I want a full audit of civilian complaints."
"How far back?"
"Twelve months."
"That's a lot."
"Good."
Brooks nodded.
Isaiah continued.
"I also want to know which officers have received repeated complaints."
"We have that data."
"I want the names."
Brooks hesitated.
"Commander, some complaints are unfounded."
"I know."
"We don't want to punish officers because someone was angry."
"Neither do I."
Isaiah looked at her.
"I want facts."
She nodded.
"Understood."
He closed the folder.
"Now tell me about Sullivan."
Brooks took a breath.