Mitchell walked to the door, opened it slightly, and called down the hallway.
“Brooks. Get in here.”
The young officer appeared about thirty seconds later.
He looked nervous.
His eyes flicked toward Andrew, then toward Mitchell.
“Yes, sir?”
“Check tomorrow’s schedule. See if there’s any ceremony listed. Anything involving the mayor.”
Brooks hesitated.
“Sir, I can check, but Deputy Chief Walsh usually handles—”
“Just check it now.”
Brooks left.
The door closed again.
The room fell silent except for the hum of the ventilation system.
Andrew sat perfectly still.
His hands remained folded on the table.
But there was something in his eyes.
A calculation.
A countdown.
Mitchell paced.
Three steps one way.
Three steps back.
His boots scraped the concrete.
Wilson stayed beside the door, arms crossed, studying Andrew like a hawk.
“You said something earlier,” Mitchell finally said. “About your brother.”
Andrew didn’t respond.
“What did you mean by that?”
Still nothing.
Mitchell came around the table.
“I asked you a question.”
“And I chose not to answer it.”
“Wrong choice.”
Mitchell grabbed Andrew’s collar again.
This time, he pulled harder, lifting him partially from the chair.
Andrew raised his hands instinctively.
Not to fight.
Only to steady himself.
“That’s resisting,” Wilson said loudly from the door.
Loud enough for anyone outside to hear.
Loud enough to establish the story.
“He’s resisting.”
Andrew wasn’t resisting.
He was trying to keep his balance.
Mitchell’s grip tightened around him.
Then the confrontation crossed another line.
Mitchell forced Andrew forward into the table.
Andrew recoiled from the impact, stunned, with a cut opening near his eyebrow.
Wilson didn’t move.
Mitchell stepped back, breathing hard.
His face was flushed.
“You shouldn’t have resisted.”
Andrew touched his forehead.
His fingers came away red.
He looked at them for a moment.
Then he raised his eyes to Mitchell.
The same steady eyes.
“This is exactly what you did three years ago.”
Mitchell froze.
“What?”
“Three years ago.”
Andrew looked around the room.
“This same room.”
Then he looked directly at Mitchell.
“My brother Brandon.”
The color drained from Mitchell’s face.
The door opened.
Brooks was back.
He was holding a printed schedule.
His eyes widened when he saw Andrew’s injury.
“Sir, there is something on the schedule.”
The room went silent.
Mitchell stared at him.
Wilson’s arms dropped to her sides.
“Tomorrow morning, eight o’clock,” Brooks continued. “A swearing-in ceremony for the new chief of police.”
Mitchell’s expression went blank.
“That’s impossible.”
“Mayor Anderson, the city council president, state representatives. All confirmed for eight tomorrow morning.”
Mitchell snatched the paper from Brooks.
His eyes scanned the text.
His lips moved silently as he read.
Then he crumpled the sheet and threw it into the corner.
“Get out, Brooks.”
“Sir, he’s bleeding.”
“I said get out.”
Brooks left.
But before he disappeared through the doorway, his eyes met Andrew’s.