Derek held the plastic bag between his gloved fingers and examined it with exaggerated seriousness.
"Possession of a suspected controlled substance," he announced. "That's a serious problem, Mr. Brooks."
Nathaniel glanced at the bag and then back at the officer.
"Is that what we're calling it?"
Derek's eyebrows rose.
"What else would you call it?"
"Evidence you just planted."
For an instant, the officer's smile vanished.
Then he laughed louder than before.
"Planted? You think I'm planting evidence?"
"I watched you put it into my pocket."
"That's a serious accusation."
"So is accusing an innocent person of possessing contraband."
Derek took a step forward.
"Careful."
Nathaniel did not move.
"With what?"
"With the things you say to a police officer."
"Truth doesn't become dangerous simply because an officer dislikes hearing it."
The words were delivered without anger. That somehow made them more infuriating.
Derek glanced toward the path, checking whether anyone had approached. The woman who had briefly looked over was now too far away to hear their conversation clearly. The couple near the fountain had left.
He lowered his voice.
"You know what happens to people who accuse officers of misconduct?"
Nathaniel answered immediately.
"They should expect an investigation."
Derek's jaw tightened.
"Not the kind of investigation I'm talking about."
Nathaniel studied him carefully.
There it was again: the suggestion that Derek possessed powers beyond the law, that a uniform gave him permission to frighten people into silence.
Nathaniel had encountered officers like him before. Some were motivated by greed. Others were driven by resentment or the thrill of controlling vulnerable people. The most dangerous believed their own lies so completely that they no longer recognized the difference between public service and personal revenge.
Derek seemed to possess all three characteristics.
He slipped the bag into his own hand while reaching for Nathaniel's wrist.
"Turn around. You're under arrest."
"For what specific offense?"
"Possession of suspected illegal narcotics."
"Based on the item you placed in my pocket?"
Derek grabbed Nathaniel's arm.
"Stop resisting!"
Nathaniel had not resisted. His hands remained open, and his feet were planted firmly on the path.
Nevertheless, Derek pulled harder, attempting to twist the older man's arm behind his back.
Nathaniel felt the pressure immediately. His shoulder could have been injured if he allowed the movement to continue unchecked.
He had several options.
He could comply and allow Derek to complete the arrest, trusting that subsequent investigators would uncover the truth. He could verbally challenge the action, knowing that Derek might escalate the encounter. Or he could intervene physically if necessary to prevent an unlawful assault.
Nathaniel chose to remain still long enough to make his intentions unmistakable.
"Officer Maddox," he said quietly, "release my arm."
Derek froze.
Nathaniel had not introduced himself by rank. He had not displayed a badge or explained his assignment. Yet the way he spoke suddenly made Derek feel as though he had missed something important.
"How do you know my name?"
"It's displayed on your uniform."
Derek glanced down before realizing how foolish the question sounded.
"Don't play games with me."
"I'm asking you to stop using unnecessary force."
"You don't tell me how much force to use!"
"I am telling you to release my arm."
Derek twisted harder.
Nathaniel's expression changed, not into rage but into a focused stillness that seemed to drain the warmth from his face.
The officer had crossed another line.
"Last warning," Nathaniel said.
Derek leaned close, his mustache almost brushing the older man's cheek.
"You think you're going to scare me with that calm voice?"
"No."
"Then what are you going to do?"
"Protect myself."
Derek suddenly shoved him toward the bench.
Nathaniel shifted his weight and caught himself without falling. Derek interpreted the movement as defiance and lunged again, attempting to force the older man down.
The struggle was brief but violent. Derek seized Nathaniel's sleeve, and the fabric stretched under his grip.
"Get down!" the officer shouted.
Nathaniel turned enough to prevent his shoulder from being twisted further.
"Stop!"
Derek ignored him.
The older man realized that the officer was no longer interested in making an arrest. He wanted to punish Nathaniel for refusing to submit.
A memory flashed through Nathaniel's mind: a young recruit years earlier, standing rigidly before an instructor who had told him that discipline meant knowing when to act and when not to. Strength without judgment was merely another form of recklessness.
Nathaniel had never forgotten the lesson.
He would not strike Derek out of anger. He would not continue a fight simply to prove superiority. But he would not allow the officer to injure him or fabricate a violent encounter to justify the planted evidence.
When Derek lunged a third time, Nathaniel caught his arm, shifted his stance, and redirected the force of the movement. The officer stumbled sideways.
Derek recovered quickly, breathing hard.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Trying to keep you from hurting me."
"You just assaulted a police officer!"
"No. You attacked me."
Derek's face flushed red.
He looked toward the distant entrance, where another uniformed officer had begun walking in their direction.
The sight restored his confidence.
"You're finished, old man."
Nathaniel released Derek's arm and took a measured step back.
The officer immediately reached for his handcuffs, eager to regain control before anyone could question his behavior.
Nathaniel watched him approach.
The bag of white powder remained in Derek's possession. The false accusation remained unresolved. The officer still believed that his uniform could turn a lie into the truth.
But the situation was changing.
Nathaniel had identified himself internally as the senior investigator responsible for examining the precinct's misconduct. He had watched Derek manufacture evidence, threaten a civilian, and escalate force without justification.
Now, Derek was about to discover that the older man in the brown jacket was not the powerless target he had imagined.
And Nathaniel was about to show him why.