Whitmore twisted the nozzle valve to full jet pressure. Simone saw it coming. "Don't you dare!"
The blast of water hit her full in the face. The sheer kinetic force stunned her, knocking the breath from her lungs. Water pounded her chest and shoulders, violent and ice-cold. She tried to turn away, but Whitmore followed her with the stream like a predator.
"You think you can assault me?" he screamed. "You think you're special?"
The pressure knocked her backward. She tripped over her rose bushes and crashed hard onto the grass. Whitmore stepped over her, standing tall, pinning her to the ground with the crushing jet of water. It flooded her face, choking her, blinding her.
"Maybe this will teach you some respect!" he shouted.
Simone lay on the ground, gasping, choking, shielding her face in vain. Water filled her nose, her mouth, her ears. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds.
"Stop it!" Eleanor screamed from her porch, sobbing. "She's drowning!"
Forty seconds. Simone's blouse plastered to her skin; her denim jeans soaked through. Her briefcase, knocked open on the walkway, spilled legal documents into muddy puddles, destroying months of work.
Finally, Whitmore released the trigger.
Silence fell over the lawn, broken only by Simone's violent gasping and coughing. She sat in a muddy puddle, water streaming from her hair and clothes, black rivers of mascara running down her cheeks.
Whitmore tossed the hose aside, breathing heavily, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Maybe that'll wash some of that attitude off you, sweetheart."
The crowd erupted in rage. At least ten neighbors were recording. Marcus’s livestream crossed 2,800 viewers. Mills stood frozen, horrified.
Simone sat there, humiliated on her own lawn in front of her community. Then, slowly, purposefully, she pushed herself up. Water dripped from every inch of her body. She wiped her face, looking Whitmore dead in the eyes. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, icy, and lethal.
"Officer Whitmore, you have just made the single worst mistake of your career."
Whitmore scoffed. "Is that a threat?"
"No. That is a promise."
Simone reached into her soaked back pocket. Her wet denim made it difficult, but her fingers closed around a leather case. She pulled it out and flipped it open.
A heavy gold seal caught the morning light, gleaming above official credentials. She held it up for Whitmore and the surrounding cameras to see.
"I am Dr. Simone Laurent. Circuit Judge for the United States Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit."
The Golden Seal
The color drained instantly from Whitmore's face. His mouth opened, closed, but no sound came out.
"You just assaulted a federal judge on her own private property in front of dozens of witnesses," Simone stated coldly.