“Who did you speak with?”
“Someone at the front desk.”
“Name?”
“I wasn't given one.”
Daniel looked toward the other officers.
Nobody spoke.
Maya opened the folder again.
“I also requested the body-camera footage.”
Daniel's expression changed.
“There isn't anything you need to worry about.”
“I didn't say I was worried.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I want to know why the footage hasn't been included with the report.”
Daniel stared at her.
“You don't understand how these things work.”
“Then explain it to me.”
His eyes narrowed.
Maya remained still.
The room seemed to shrink around them.
Finally, Daniel said, “The report is my account of what happened.”
“And the camera is a record of what happened.”
“It doesn't always tell the whole story.”
“I agree.”
She nodded toward the computer.
“That's why both should be reviewed.”
Daniel didn't answer.
Behind him, Officer Lewis had been listening.
He had joined the department only four years earlier.
He respected Daniel.
But something about the conversation bothered him.
Not because Daniel was necessarily wrong.
Not yet.
The problem was the certainty.
Daniel spoke as though his version of the event could not possibly be questioned.
Officer Lewis looked at Maya.
She wasn't behaving like someone trying to win an argument.
She looked like someone trying to keep a promise to herself.
Lewis stood.
“I can check whether the footage was uploaded.”
Daniel turned.
“You don't need to.”
“I'll just verify.”
Daniel's expression hardened.
But Lewis had already walked toward the computer.
A few minutes later, he stopped.
“It's here.”
Everyone looked at him.
“What?” Daniel asked.
“The footage.”
Silence.
Maya closed her eyes for a moment.
She had known it existed.
But hearing those words changed everything.
The footage was played on a monitor.
Nobody spoke.
There was Maya's car.
There was the intersection.
There was the police vehicle.
And there was the signal.
Flashing.
Clearly visible.
Daniel watched without blinking.
The room felt uncomfortable.