“Elena?” Deputy Director Samuel Brooks repeated through the phone.
“What happened?”
I stared through the windshield at my brother.
Mark was standing beneath the porch light with one hand wrapped around a beer bottle.
His badge remained clipped to his belt.
Around him, men who had watched him force me to my knees were already rebuilding the party’s laughter.
They were doing what groups often did after witnessing something indefensible.
They were deciding together that it had not been serious.
I looked down at the photograph on my screen.
The cuff marks were darkening.
Blood traced one thin line across my left wrist.
“My brother used department-issued handcuffs on me while intoxicated,” I said.
“He accused me of theft, restrained me, forced me to the ground, and released me after calling it a joke.”
Brooks went silent.
He had supervised enough investigations to understand the difference between a family argument and an officer misusing police equipment in front of witnesses.
“Are you safe now?” he asked.
“I’m locked in my car.”
“Do you need medical assistance?”
“I need an evidence number first.”
His voice changed.
The concern remained, but procedure took over.
“Do not confront him.
Photograph everything.
Preserve the original files.
Send them through the secure portal, not by text.
I’m opening an emergency intake.”
I watched Mark slap one of his friends on the shoulder.
My mother was collecting the last of my belongings from the patio, not to return them but to clear away the mess before it embarrassed her guests.
“There are approximately thirty witnesses,” I said.
“Most are officers.”
Brooks exhaled slowly.
“Any supervisors?”
“Lieutenant Harris is near the grill.
Sergeant Cole was three feet away when the cuffs went on.”
Another pause.
“Was Mark carrying his service weapon?”
“Yes.”
“Was he drinking?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I can document at least three bottles in the last hour.
Probably more.”
Brooks’s voice hardened.
“Send the photographs.
I’m contacting Internal Affairs and the watch commander.
His police authority needs to be suspended pending review.”
I pressed SEND.
The secure portal confirmed receipt at 6:53 p.m.
“Strip his badge,” I said quietly.
“Before he decides the next person is also a joke.”
Brooks did not answer with sympathy.
He answered with action.
“Stay in the vehicle.
Units are being dispatched.”
The word units made my stomach tighten.
I had spent years reading complaints written by strangers.
