"I provided identification. You refused to examine it."
Whitmore stepped closer.
"You accusing my officer of lying?"
"I'm correcting the record."
A few officers exchanged uncomfortable glances.
Whitmore's jaw tightened.
"You're going to learn something about respect in this precinct."
He looked down at the briefcase.
"What's in there?"
"Official documents."
"Open it."
"I would prefer that you not handle it without authorization."
Whitmore stared at him.
Then, with a deliberate grin, he lifted his polished shoe and kicked the briefcase.
The leather case skidded across the tiled floor.
It struck the leg of a nearby desk and fell open.
Several documents slid out.
One officer instinctively moved to pick them up.
"Leave it!" Whitmore snapped.
The officer stopped.
Jonathan slowly turned his head toward the scattered papers.
For the first time, his expression changed.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Disappointment.
"Sergeant," he said quietly, "you should not have done that."
Whitmore leaned down, picked up one of the documents, and glanced at it.
He barely read the first line before tossing it back onto the floor.
"Looks like paperwork to me."
Jonathan looked directly at him.
"That's exactly what I expected you to say."
Whitmore stepped forward.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Before Jonathan could answer, a young female officer seated at the administrative computer noticed something unusual.
Her name was Officer Rebecca Lawson.
She had been entering information into the department's internal personnel system when Miller's temporary booking request appeared on her screen.
She clicked the subject's name.
The system searched.
A second later, a personnel profile appeared.
Rebecca frowned.
She leaned closer.
Then she stopped breathing.
At the top of the screen was a photograph of the handcuffed man standing behind her.
Below it were several lines of official information.
NAME: JONATHAN MICHAEL HAYES
RANK: CHIEF OF POLICE
COMMAND: 24TH PRECINCT — CITYWIDE OVERSIGHT
STATUS: ACTIVE
Rebecca's face went pale.
She looked at the photograph.
Then at the man.
Then back at the screen.
"No..."
Miller glanced over.
"What?"
Rebecca stood so abruptly that her chair rolled backward.
"Sergeant Whitmore."
Whitmore did not turn.
"What?"
"Sergeant, you need to look at this."
"I'm busy."
"Sir. Now."
Something in her voice made him turn.
Rebecca pointed at the monitor.
Whitmore walked toward her, irritation written across his face.
"What is it?"
She stepped aside.
He looked at the screen.
His eyes moved across the personnel record.
His smile slowly vanished.
He looked at the photograph.
Then at the name.
Then at the words beneath it.
CHIEF OF POLICE.
For several seconds, the precinct seemed to fall silent.
Whitmore turned around.
Jonathan was standing exactly where he had left him.
His wrists were still cuffed.
His briefcase was still open on the floor.
And his expression had not changed.
Whitmore swallowed.
"That's..."
Jonathan spoke before he could finish.
"Good morning, Sergeant."
Whitmore's face drained of color.
Jonathan raised his cuffed hands slightly.
"Would you like to explain why I'm being detained in my own precinct?"
Miller stared at his colleague.