For the first time, Kane seemed to understand that the people around him might not accept his version of events simply because he was the loudest person in the room. He had spent years relying on the assumption that a firm command would end a discussion. Now his commands were producing hesitation instead of obedience.
That realization made him more dangerous, not less.
He turned back toward Cross, who had not changed position beside the chair.
"You think this is a game," Kane said.
Cross shook his head.
"No. I think this could have been resolved ten minutes ago."
Kane's fists tightened.
"You should have cooperated."
"I did."
"You should have shown respect."
"I answered your questions."
"You should have kept your mouth shut."
Cross paused.
Then he spoke in the same measured tone he had used from the beginning.
"You cannot make an identification legitimate or illegitimate by ordering someone to be quiet."
The room went still again.
Kane's face tightened as though the words had struck him more sharply than any physical blow. He looked toward the badge, then at the handcuffs, then at Cross's injured face. Each detail was a reminder of the decisions he had already made, and each one made it harder for him to pretend that the situation was still under control.
He could stop.
He could order the cuffs checked, ask Brooks to contact the appropriate office, and allow a supervisor to establish the facts. He could acknowledge that the confrontation had gone too far and take the first step toward correcting it.
But stopping would require him to admit that he had acted without knowing enough.
For Kane, that admission felt more threatening than continuing.
He straightened his uniform and forced his voice into a cold, authoritative register.
"Until I say otherwise, you're staying right there."
Cross glanced briefly at the chair beside him.
"I haven't moved."
"Don't get smart with me."
"I'm answering you."
Kane moved around the corner of the table, positioning himself between Cross and the door. His stance was deliberate, his shoulders squared, and his chin raised. He seemed determined to make the room feel smaller by occupying more of it.
Brooks watched him closely.
"Victor, don't do this."
He ignored her.
Cross could see that the officer was trying to force him into another reaction. A raised voice would give Kane something to point at. A sudden movement could be described as resistance. An angry accusation could be presented as proof that Cross had been the source of the hostility all along.
So Cross gave him none of those things.
He stood with his cuffed hands in front of him, blood still visible beneath one nostril, and waited.
Kane stared at him, searching for the first sign that the stranger's calm might finally break. He seemed to believe that if he applied enough pressure, the man would eventually reveal himself as the arrogant impostor Kane had already decided he was.
Instead, Cross looked past him toward Sergeant Brooks.
"Will you please have someone verify my credentials?"
Brooks answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
Kane turned so sharply that the movement made the fabric across his shoulders pull tight.
"Sergeant, you will not undermine me in my own station."
Brooks did not retreat.
"I'm not undermining you. I'm asking for the facts."
"The facts are standing right in front of you."
"No," she replied. "A man is standing in front of us, in handcuffs, with an injury to his face. You have called his identification fake, but you have not verified it. Those are the facts we can establish right now."
Kane's eyes flashed.
"You've made your point."
"Then let me make the call."
For a moment, the only sound was the faint electrical hum from the ceiling lights.
Cross watched the exchange with the patience of someone who knew that the truth was not always revealed at the moment it became obvious. Sometimes it took a person willing to make a phone call. Sometimes it required a record, a witness, or a supervisor who could look beyond the first explanation offered by the person in charge.
And sometimes it required the people in the room to decide whether they were willing to challenge a colleague before his mistakes became impossible to contain.
Brooks had reached that point.
Parker appeared to be approaching it.
Kane was still fighting against it.
He looked at Cross one more time, his expression caught between anger and a new, unwelcome uncertainty. The stranger had been struck, restrained, and accused, yet he continued to speak as though the facts would remain the facts regardless of how loudly Kane denied them.